Angel of Time
by Tsuki the Wolf
Summary: An angel stealing and killing has Sherlock and John quickly on the case but when the two end up in America through accident they realize that this case isn't just a logical one but a supernatural one. They team up with Sam, Dean, and Castiel to stop the rogue angel when the Doctor takes matters into his own hands. Time is being altered critically. SuperWhoLock Multi-pairing
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm finally caught up in all three fandoms so I decided I really wanted to write a SuperWhoLock story. I've been searching for various ones but while some storylines were good, the characterization of the people was kind of off. I wanted to try my hand at balancing so many different characters and their relationships and personalities while also maintaining a good storyline. Perhaps, I'll succeed. I'll try to make this chapter rather long so I can get good feedback. **

**Those of you who have read some of my previous stories know that I value characters and their relationships so I'll try my damndest to keep them as in character as possible while in whatever situation they're in. However, this is my first time writing any of their characters so if you believe something feels off then feel free to message me about it!**

**There will be hints of love relationships among certain characters. Whether or not there's more than that is to be decided.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

If John really had to think back on what had occurred recently in his life his first immediate thought would be "What went wrong?" Considering his situation at hand he would say that he had been thrown into a new life. Granted he was handling the new situation quite well with all of the issues in his life considered but he would have to attribute that to Sherlock being as calm and irrationally stubborn as he usually was. It kept John from losing his grip on sanity which he was sure he would've been very, _very_ concerned if Sherlock hadn't been there acting as his rock. After all, one doesn't just appear in the middle of America (the United States, that is) after one was just in London not (he glanced at his watch) two hours ago. There wasn't a plane flight involved, by the way. So John needed to take a moment and reflect on the past couple of days.

Two days previously John had been sitting back in his flat typing up one of his more recent "adventures" with Sherlock Holmes while said detective was missing. John hadn't been worried in the least; Sherlock often disappeared for sometimes a couple days on end before he reappeared in the flat. If John was lucky then Sherlock came inside the flat appearing to be a mixture of pleased, arrogant, and annoyed. These feelings reflected a successful case solved but it must have been a simple task considering John wasn't dragged along. The annoyance on his friend's face assured John of such facts. If John was unlucky (in a way he had quickly grown accustomed to) then Sherlock would burst into the flat agitated and pacing before he would throw himself onto the couch or armchair twiddling with anything nearby and downright sulking. It was a clear sign that the last case had certainly _not_ been worth his effort and he was angry at the world that he didn't have a better one.

That day just happened to be one of those days.

John sipped his tea before placing it back on the table and shifting in his spot in his own favourite armchair. Sherlock was curled up on the couch with his back facing angrily towards his flatmate. John watched him half-amused by his antics and allowed him to seethe for a couple of moments before he spoke. "I take it you didn't have fun?"

"Dreadful." Sherlock grumbled and then sat up quickly as he flicked his trench coat's bottom out of the way and faced John with scrunched eyebrows. "Didn't I say that I wouldn't work for less than a seven?" He demanded.

John kept his face generally neutral. "Yes of course, but wasn't the case a-"

"And yet!" Sherlock continued as he jumped to his feet and stepped up onto the coffee table to begin pacing restlessly on the floor, "And yet _you_ still send me out on such a menial case!"

John looked back at his computer and tapped his fingers against the plastic of his keyboard without really typing anything. He knew he wouldn't be able to type anything half-decent until Sherlock was done addressing him. Sherlock always demanded all of his attention. For that John resented him a bit (especially when he was being accused of ridiculous notions such as what was happening at that moment) but by this point in his life he knew not to let himself simmer in it. It was better for him mentally if he dealt with Sherlock in stride.

He tried again. "The _case_, Sherlock, originally piqued your interest. It couldn't have been less than a seven in your eyes."

"I know." Sherlock muttered as his previous frustration towards John turned to other sources. John watched him as the man went quiet for a period of time. After a good five minutes Sherlock began to talk aloud again but John knew it was more to Sherlock himself rather than John so he went back to typing. He didn't make it very far before the taller man let out a sound akin to a growl and jumped into the seat across from John's tapping his fingers anxiously. "I need a new case. Is there something on that site of yours?"

John gave up on typing and saved it before opening his emails. "Let's see…" He trailed through them and listed out a series of cases including one about a missing "living" doll ("Droll."), a triple murder ("Clearly it was the raccoon outside of their house." "How would you know that?" "Because of their location, John! Pay more attention." "Right."), and a missing chest of treasure ("Do we get to keep the treasure?" "I doubt it." "Next."). John sat back and looked at his flatmate. "Nothing, then. Have you any messages from Greg?"

"Who?" Sherlock asked distracted as he stared at the knife that was stabbed in the wall. The _Cluedo _board that they had played with somewhat recently hung from it stabbed through the middle. John felt a mixture of amusement (he saw it twitching on Sherlock's lips as well) and anger as he remembered his feelings while they had played the game. There was a reason John had stabbed it into the wall.

"Lestrade."

"Oh, him." He pulled out his phone while one hand worked off the scarf from around his neck. John sipped from his cup of tea again as he waited. His Earl Grey was quickly becoming cool in the moderately chilly room. He would have to see if Mrs. Hudson would be willing to turn up the thermostat. John didn't want to have to deal with the fireplace until later on in the evening. The sun was still up after all. Sherlock put his phone to the side and glared angrily at the wall for a moment in thought before he went to the kitchen to pursue an experiment that needed checking on. John assumed the worst and went to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

* * *

Evening rolled around far too slowly for either bachelor's taste as the two sat together watching their single television. BBC news was on but they were waiting for a more entertaining show to come on. Sherlock appeared not having calmed down completely but at least he was sitting. His hands were pressed together in front of his mouth in his usual thinking position ignoring the perfectly good food next to him. The fire was heartily warming the duo with their coats having been discarded. John could almost feel Sherlock's thoughts as they ran in all directions contemplating whatever it was Sherlock thought about. The man couldn't seem to relax unless a good job was finished and even then that didn't last long. It was times such as these that John was rather glad he didn't have Sherlock's brilliant mind.

Police sirens raced by outside of the window and caused John's head to instinctively tilt in that direction curiously. With the type of job he owned it was only natural for his ears to perk up at the sound of the sirens. Sherlock didn't move but listened as well. Both men waited for one of the police cars to pull up outside of 221B but with the silence that reigned it appeared their luck wasn't right. John pulled out a book –by an American author as one would have it- and glanced over the cover._ Supernatural_ was the series title to which he gave a bit of a huff.

Sherlock glanced at him and then the book curiously. "What is that?"

"A series," John admitted, "that my girlfriend recommended." He waved the book a bit and then reached down beside his chair to grab the first of the series and hand it to Sherlock. "It's…interesting. Not quite my taste but-"

"But you wanted to get on with her, yes I know." Sherlock muttered. John spared him only a slightly confused look sensing a tone but quickly brushed it off as Sherlock read the summary of the series. The man scoffed and lopped the book onto a nearby table. "Monsters. Ridiculous notions. Such things don't exist in the least. Why do you read such drivel?" John rolled his eyes having already known Sherlock's opinion on the supernatural. A man of science of course would never believe in such things. John himself of course didn't believe in demons and wedigoes and vampires but he found himself enthralled with this Sam and Dean. The brothers were just so human. If not for their characters, John doubted that he would continue reading. He was far in the series as it was. He knew he was on the final book though so he decided that since nothing was going to happen at the moment he would just finish it. He was at a dramatic point where Sam was possessed by Lucifer and he was about to go to face Michael with Dean going after them. As far as he knew this was the last book in the series.

Sherlock stared at him as John read making John's skin prickle. He pointedly ignored him knowing Sherlock was trying to make deductions about him. He really wished that the detective would just let things go once in a while but it appeared tonight would not be that night. The tall man sat back in his chair. "Why do you read that?" He questioned again sounding more honest and less insulting.

John mulled the question around for a moment. "Because sometimes it's nice to get away from the real world." He stated.

"Yes, life is quite dull…" Sherlock agreed. They sat in an uncomfortable silence before Sherlock sniffed and settled himself back to watching the telly. John engrossed himself within the final pages of his book. His hair stood on end as he imagined himself in Dean's place. How would he feel if it was him and Harry in the brothers' place? No, that wouldn't do. He and Harry didn't get on. Their relationship wasn't even close to Sam and Dean's. He couldn't imagine the pain Dean had to go through with his brother becoming addicted to demon blood and generally ignoring all of Dean's warnings. Sam was a good kid but it was clear he was changing and Dean was desperate to get his little brother back. John's blood ran cold as he finished the book. Every fiber of his being was stiff as if expecting more but no. The book was finished. Sam was gone and Dean was "normal". He sat back and sighed as he ran a hand into his hair. Well that was…heart-wrenching. He shuddered a bit and came back to reality to look around the flat. Sherlock was missing but he heard movement in the other room.

A buzzing alerted him to Sherlock's phone going off. Silently praying that it was something to keep his friend busy (something was telling him Sherlock was cooking something up that would no doubt be unpleasant in his room) he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"John," Lestrade's voice responded, "How are you?"

"All right. And you?"

"Well, as fine as I can be." The man sounded tired. John wondered to himself if he had been working a number of hours. "I've got something for you two."

"I assumed so." He was already moving towards Sherlock's room. The man poked his head out of the doorway wearing welding goggles. John gave him a quick alarmed look before motioning him over. Sherlock moved towards him and John pulled the goggles off of him. Sherlock disregarded him and waited with an arched eyebrow. John moved away from him as Lestrade explained the case. John raised two eyebrows in surprise and then nodded knowing that the detective inspector couldn't see him. "I'll tell him…Goodbye." He ended the call and turned to the disgruntled Sherlock. The man didn't appreciate having to wait.

"Well?" He demanded.

"You'll like this one." John stalled a bit more unable to help teasing the obnoxious man. He handed Sherlock his phone. "It's a robbery at the National Antiques Museum." Sherlock turned his head away, upset.

"What makes you think I'd _like_ this one?" John smirked ready to wipe the grumpiness from his friend.

"There's been a double murder. Two of the guards were apparently killed when they spotted the culprit."

"John, tell me something worth my _time_."

"They died with their eyes burned out of their skulls." _That_ got Sherlock's attention. He spun around from where he was about to go back the room and approached John.

"Burned out?"

"From what they say, yeah."

"Similar to the reports from Germany and America?"

"Exactly so." Sherlock broke out into a grin then and rushed into the bedroom to change.

"Get dressed, John! Finally a job worth doing!" John could almost hear the man jump in the air in excitement and hurried to go get dressed. The two had been hearing stories about the similar deaths in other countries that had left officials baffled. Unable to go to either site Sherlock had been left wondering about the deaths because he wanted to investigate them. No doubt now he would be like a child with a new puppy. John had just managed to slip on his coat when he saw Sherlock whisk out of the door. He hurried to lock the door before following the man downstairs and saw the cab had been called (how did Sherlock always manage to call them on his first try?) and climbed in with his flatmate. He told the cabbie where to go and sat back. Beside him Sherlock had a small excited smile on his face.

"What do you suppose it is?" John asked.

"We'll have to see." Sherlock said while nearly vibrating with energy. He couldn't wait to get to the scene and investigate. John let out a silent chuckle as he gazed out the opposite window at the lights passing them by. Seeing a happy Sherlock was pleasing to him. It was better than dealing with the other half of him which had him shooting holes in the wall and playing his violin violently bad. It was as if expressing his upset through terrible music soothed him. His flatmate thought the opposite feeling as if his eardrums were going to bleed any second. Those times had him hiding out in his room and listening to his own music.

The cab didn't even get to stop before Sherlock was throwing himself out of the vehicle and confidently left John with the tab. After paying the smaller man jogged after him and gave a nod to the officers near the police rope. They gave him a slightly disgruntled look (most of them still didn't really care for Sherlock) but nodded back and allowed him in. Police loitered here and there among the pillars of the museum as they searched for clues. The sound of cameras snapping pictures led John exactly where he needed to be. Sherlock was already crouching near one of the bodies with his portable magnifying glass out. Lestrade stood over him silently but looked up as John approached. They nodded their greetings to each other.

"What kind of sick bastard do you think does this?" Lestrade asked as his eyes turned back to the bodies at hand. The two guards' bodies weren't far away from each other as they lay flat on the ground. Their guns were still within their hands. From just outward appearances the guards looked fine in every way except their faces. Their eyes were burned cleanly from their skulls and their faces held only shock and horror. John wondered idly to himself that if he hadn't been in war if he would be more aghast.

"I don't know."

"John." Sherlock put away the magnifying glass after his initial inspection and looked at his friend. "What do you think?" He was pleased that Sherlock had asked him his opinion. John approached and kneeled next to one of the bodies. The man in front of him appeared slightly overweight and in his later forties. He had shockingly bright red hair for an older fellow but there were clear silver streaks hidden within its depths. A 3 o' clock shadow darkened his face. John gently picked up the man's hand and examined it before he reluctantly (but not without curiosity) leaned closer to the face. His eyes scanned over the holes in the face and frowned. There was a little bit of blood pooled in the back of the sockets which showed that it was indeed a clean job. John sat back and Sherlock looked at him waiting.

John shrugged. "I don't know. It looks as if only the eyeballs were damaged. They're completely gone. I don't see any actual burns on the inside though. It's very clean."

"Yes, exactly." Sherlock stood up with a sweep of his jacket. "It's clean. No tool could possibly do such a job and even if there was nothing could've been done this fast to two bodies in such a short time and manage to escape." Sherlock went over to the second body and searched the nails and shoes John stood and watched him examine them. The brunette didn't speak any longer as he thought about the situation.

John turned to Lestrade. "Do you have any leads?"

Lestrade shook his head. "It's just like the other cases: no fingerprints or footprints or anything." John found it so strange. This was the third robbery in the past week and a half. How could a person travel from Germany to America to London in that time? They must have quite a bit of money. On top of that, why were they taking the items?

"What was stolen, anyhow?"

"Not sure. Donavon's on the questioning. From what I've heard so far it's some kind of weapon."

John raised an eyebrow. Did this type of museum even hold weapons? "Is it still functional?" Lestrade shook his head. Sherlock marched over to them then looking frustrated.

"No clues! There must be something!" He turned to ask Lestrade something else when the detective inspector's name was called. A woman ran up to them holding a recording.

"You'll want to hear this, sir!" She said.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked as he took the item from her.

"Apparently one of the guards called in the robbery. Here's the recording. It's…strange." Lestrade played it. A majority of the recording seemed to be static. The few words that could be made out were the standard warning of an invader when suddenly the guard's voice became confused and panic. A high-pitched feedback emitted from the recording. The people nearby cried out. John faintly heard some screaming in the recording before he was forced to cover his ears as he fell to his knees in pain. Around him others did the same. Somewhere nearby a glass case broke. He felt like his brain was pressing against his skull as the feedback made his heart rate go up. He felt a sound rip from his throat but he couldn't hear it. Just when he believed he would pass out, the noise stopped and all was quiet.

He opened his eyes and looked around to see Sherlock climbing to his feet along with Lestrade. Their hands were slowly falling from their ears. John stood as well but didn't trust his ability to speak. He doubted anybody would've been able to hear him as of yet anyway. Around him others were staring in shock at the noise. After a moment John spoke. "All right, everyone? You can hear?"

"What the devil _was_ that?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock was already moving to grab the recording from the floor. Smoke was beginning to flow from the recording. John could only stare at it. Something was clicking rapidly in his brain. But it was impossible, wasn't it? They weren't real. How could he even possibly consider something so outrageous? No, it must be something else.

"Come John." Sherlock said, startling him out of his thoughts. The man rushed past him. John looked quickly back and forth between the departing man and the DI. Lestrade shook his head and shrugged so John left after his flatmate. "You know something." Sherlock stated as John finally managed to catch up to the man's long strides. Damn the man for being so tall.

"And what makes you say that?" John asked as he didn't want to admit his thoughts. They were ridiculous enough to him; he didn't need Sherlock mocking him on top of it.

"You made it quite obvious." He hailed a taxi and climbed in. John let out a short rush of air as he sat next to him. Sherlock glanced at him. John resisted telling him the truth.

"I don't know what you mean."

"You shouldn't play dumb, John. I have enough idiots around me without you having to join them."John wasn't sure if that was Sherlock's way of calling him smart or not.

_Just accept the compliment._ John told himself. "Sherlock, I don't even believe my own idea so I highly doubt you will." He gave his friend a long look.

"I still want to hear it." John sighed and ran a hand into his hair. He scratched his head silently before smoothing it out again. They were approaching their destination soon.

"It has to do with the _Supernatural_ books." Already John could see the disgust on Sherlock's face but he could also see the man wanted him to go on. John decided _what the hell_ and explained, "In the books there are angels. Angels cannot show their true forms because it blinds people; burns the eyes out of their sockets." Sherlock seemed more attentive now; his eyes focusing more on John than they had a moment ago, "And when they speak, most humans can't understand them. It sounds like a high-pitched squeal similar to what I imagine we heard on the recording."

Sherlock considered him for a moment before he asked quietly, "You believe an angel did this." It wasn't a question.

John grew frustrated at himself. The idea sounded even more idiotic from Sherlock's brilliant mouth. "I know it's not possible!"

"You're right; it's impossible." The man leaned forward and paid the cabbie as they arrived at their flat. "Utterly impossible." He climbed out. John followed after with a small scowl. Sherlock stalked into the house and up the stairs before he snatched John's computer and logged in. John had long since given up questioning how the man _always_ discovered his password. Sometimes he wondered if he shouldn't bother to change the password to see if Sherlock would get confused for at least a moment.

"You don't need to rub it in." John grumbled as he grabbed the dinner that had been left by Sherlock behind at the flat. It was too late now to try to save it for leftovers. He tossed it in the rubbish bin and sighed before washing his hands. He then went into the bedroom to change into his pyjamas before slipping on his night robe and went back into the living room. Sherlock sat in his thinking position. John leaned against the wall. "Will you be sleeping tonight?"

"Sleeping…Sleeping is boring, John. Why sleep when there's something more _exciting_ going on?" Sherlock said.

"You don't have anything to go on at the moment, though?"

"There's always something." John gave up.

"Good night, then."

* * *

John was awoken the next day by an alarm. He groaned lightly and rolled onto this stomach as he reached for his phone. The time displayed itself in block lettering that it was promptly 7 am. He turned off his alarm and sighed out through his nose as he ran a hand over his face. Time for work, then. He slid out of his bed languidly and went to the bathroom to shower. After taking care of the necessary morning procedures of shaving, brushing his teeth, and dressing he went downstairs. He made his way over to the coffee machine disregarding his friend who was sitting in his armchair still. As the coffee was starting he turned to him. Sherlock gazed through the wall not really seeing.

"Have you been sitting there all night?" He asked deciding to risk breaking the man's concentration.

Sherlock lifted his chin a bit so as to allow his voice to project past his hands, "No…I'm still human, John. I've used the lavatory…" His voice was still rather passive.

"Have you eaten, then?" John could feel his doctor side arising within him. Sherlock hadn't eaten last night and frankly even if the man hated eating while on a case John would not accept his not eating. Neither of them knew how long this case would last so they needed to be at their all. He at least needed to get a bit of food into the man's stomach. Something light would do. John decided to make extra toast with his own breakfast and put some jam on it before giving a couple of pieces to his friend. "Here. Break your fast."

"John, you know how I feel about eating on a case." His sharp eyes met John's. John still found those eyes stunning with their array of multiple colours in it; sometimes they were green, other times icy blue, and sometimes like right now they were blue with a starburst of green coming out from the pupil. Everything about this man was special. Damn him.

"It's toast and jam. It won't disturb your 'process'." The two stared each other down with neither end letting up. Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly before he reluctantly took the plate of toast. John refused to move until he saw the man take a bite. Satisfied he went back to the pot to pour himself a cuppa. He sat down at the table and picked up the newspaper Mrs. Hudson must've brought up for them. "Have you come up with anything?"

Sherlock quietly munched on the toast and didn't respond for a moment. "I want you to go onto the computer and see how popular these _Supernatural_ (he said it with a healthy dose of distaste) books are."

That made John raise an eyebrow. "I can't. I have surgery today."

"You're not going to work today."

"Sherlock, not everyone here is getting their rent paid off of cases-"

"I need you _here._" Sherlock's eyes locked with his own and his tone was final. John clenched his jaw a couple of times hating whenever Sherlock took control of his life. He wasn't kidding when he had said he had this second (or first, considering the detective's assistant job didn't exactly have a schedule) in order to help pay for his half of the rent. Oftentimes unless it was a personal hire case they didn't get paid and personal hire cases did not occur often. By the same token Sherlock had told John what his "job" entailed when he told him he needed an assistant and John had jumped for the chance. It wasn't as if the case didn't interest him but he honestly didn't see where Sherlock was getting his ideas from. It was curious enough that Sherlock wanted him to research the _Supernatural _books. What had he come up with in the middle of the night?

John finally put aside the newspaper (a little roughly to show he didn't appreciate this) and went back upstairs to call Sarah and explain his situation _again_. It wasn't the first time he was forced to cancel work because of Sherlock. Sarah had only sighed but understood. John apologized again and then went downstairs to grab his laptop and bring up the internet while he ate. He was slightly pleased to notice the toast was gone from Sherlock's plate.

"So why exactly am I looking up the popularity?" He asked scanning a couple of pages. There were a number of fan sites but nothing too large from what he could see. He relayed this information to Sherlock.

"Decent popularity." Sherlock seemed to mentally add to his list before he took a breath and stood from his chair. He went to put his plate into the sink and leaned over John's shoulder to read. John removed his hands from the computer to allow the man free reign. The man never answered his question. John considered his own question for a moment before he asked,

"You think this may be some kind of copycat murderer? Like the _Geek_ case we took?"

"Brilliant deduction, John." Sherlock said. John resisted a shiver hearing the man's deep baritone right next to his ear. That voice gave him chills. Sherlock stood up straight. "That idea did occur to me. Where did you leave the books?"

"They're by my armchair."

"Fetch the one that describes the angel killings." John went over to chair and grabbed it before returning to Sherlock. The man flipped through the book quickly and roughly. John feared the man would rip the pages. He didn't want to have to pay a library fee. He decided to clean up while the man read. "The angels possess people?" Sherlock questioned.

"According to the book, yes. The people possessed do it willingly."

"How long has it been since you've seen your recent girlfriend?" John looked at him sharply startled by the sudden and strange question.

"A couple weeks, why?"

"Was she religious?"

"Yes. What exactly are you getting at?" He demanded getting a little bit defensive. Sherlock snapped the book shut and stood. He rushed over to grab his trenchcoat and scarf.

"We're going to see Lestrade." He commanded and swept out of the room. John rushed to follow mildly surprised by how used to this treatment he was and forgot Sherlock's earlier questions.

* * *

"Lestrade, do you have any surveillance video from the crime scene?" Sherlock asked as he entered the detective inspector's office. Inside was Sally Donovan already and both cops jumped upon Sherlock and John's entrance. Sally scowled at them.

"Good morning to you too." She bit out. Sherlock ignored her. John managed a half-hearted hello to her. He was already tired.

Lestrade just sighed before he sat back in his chair and dismissed Donovan. The woman scowled and moved past the men. Sherlock watched her go before shutting the door and turning back to Lestrade. "There was some tape but not much is visible. All I saw was static."

"I want to see it."

"Right, of course." Lestrade dug left the room and came back a moment later with an evidence bag. He pulled out the tape and put it into his VCR while turning on the television. The screen showed what was apparently the weapon room where the deaths had occurred only it contained the actual weapon. It appeared to be a gun of sorts from what John could see. For a few minutes nothing occurred. If it wasn't for the time on the bottom John wouldn't have known that time was even passing. Then after those few minutes static began to zip across the screen. Everyone sat up a little straighter to pay more attention. The static only became worse. For a split second John thought that he saw a shadowed figure through the static. From what he could see the lights were flickering in the museum room as well. And then two more figures appeared before a bright light flashed on the screen and the screen went completely static.

"Rewind the tape back near the beginning." Sherlock commanded and leaned forward a bit. Lestrade listened and then played the tape. "Stop there!" The man cried out but Lestrade must have gone over it. Sherlock shook his head. "Rewind it again!" The process continued for a few moments before finally Sherlock took over for himself seeing as Lestrade wasn't living up to his standards. It took him two tries before he managed what he thought was correct. "There." On the screen slightly disturbed by the static was a clear figure. John and Lestrade leaned forward. "Look familiar?" Sherlock looked to John. John frowned and stared at the figure. He could only see the back of the head. "You've surely seen her back enough." There was that tone again from the other night. John sent him a look, confused before it finally clicked.

"Oh dear god." He muttered. "But Marie wouldn't-"

"It makes sense, does it not? Avid fan of the books, religious, absent since before the murders began."

"What are you on about?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"Thank you, Inspector." Sherlock said and stood. John silently stood after him. "We'll be in touch." And then they were gone.

"Who is it, then?" Lestrade called after them, disgruntled. Sherlock didn't respond and John didn't either.

"What's the address?" Sherlock asked John. His tone was a bit lighter. John wondered if the man was trying to sympathize with him. John couldn't exactly bring himself to feel upset, though. He'd never been particularly over-attached to a specific girlfriend of his. He wondered if that was a real issue and maybe that was why those relationships never lasted. It didn't exactly take away from his close acquaintances thinking he and Sherlock was an item. John told the cabbie the address they were going to before leaning back to look out of the window. Sherlock watched him and looked away before watching him again with his eyebrows scrunched. He probably didn't know how to act in this situation. John had seen Sherlock confused on his account before and he found himself a more than a little secretly pleased to know he was one of the few people Sherlock actually cared enough about to try to sympathize when clearly it wasn't his forte.

"How did you know it was my girlfriend?" John demanded suddenly as he remembered their conversation from earlier. He turned to Sherlock.

"I found a hair that looked like hers. It didn't take much for me to come to conclusions."

"I would ask but really I'd rather not know." John sighed and turned away. Sherlock hesitated before he slowly raised a hand as if to give John a comforting pat on the shoulder. Before he could go through with it though, he gave up and put it back down.

John started when Sherlock called out suddenly, "Stop here!" The cab pulled to a stop and Sherlock hopped out.

"Sh-Sherlock! This isn't her-Oh fuck it." He tossed the money to the cab and scrambled out after his friend. Already Sherlock was reaching the corner. At least the man was going in the right direction. It was like he knew where Marie's house was. As John hurried to catch up he saw a blue police box in front of him. He found it strange considering London didn't own those boxes any longer as they had no use. He wondered what it was doing in this neighbourhood of all places. A man stepped out of the box startling John and causing the ex-army man to run into him.

"I'm terribly sorry!" John excused himself stumbling to pick himself up because he needed to catch up to Sherlock but wanting to apologize. The man he had run into was tall and a bit odd in a good-looking way. He wore a brown pinstripe suit with a long (even longer than Sherlock's) light brown trenchcoat and (strangely) red converse. His hair was extremely messy in a rather attractive way and he wore sun glasses on his face.

"Not a problem!" The man called back as he smiled and waved. He was Scottish. A blond woman (also rather attractive) stepped out from the police box next and glanced at John. John suddenly wondered if the two had just had a shag in the small box but thought that they looked rather tidy for such a thing. He didn't get to ponder it any longer as Sherlock called to him. John turned and saw Sherlock giving the strange man and woman a curious look before he ran off. John ran after him.

Marie's house was a rather small flat crammed in between two larger ones. John recalled how quaint it was inside and thought it suited the kind woman very much. She was motherly in a very maiden like way that John had found that he had liked. She was a comfort when he had been stressed from Sherlock's antics. But now she may actually be a murderer? It seemed preposterous. Every part of him denied that she would do such things. On top of that, he couldn't fathom how the woman could've arrived in three different countries when she couldn't even afford a large flat. The part of John that hated to think Marie could've done such horrid deeds seemed to whisper another preposterous notion: she could've been possessed by an angel. John knew all about the needs an angel has and he recalled that Marie had mentioned she heard an angel speak to her while she was at church a few weeks ago but John had ignored it at the time. He himself wasn't a very religious man.

He walked up to the door and knocked on it. "Marie? It's John. Are you in there?" Silence rebounded. The two men glanced at each other before Sherlock walked off. John tried knocking again with no response. Cautiously he tried the door and was surprised to discover that the door was actually open. "Sherlock!" He called. "Sherlock!" He called a second time. Sherlock's head appeared from around the corner of the next door building. John pointed to the open door and peeked his head inside.

"Don't look suspicious." Sherlock told him and walked past him to go straight inside of the building. John followed him in and closed the door behind him. Sherlock wasted no time investigating the nearby vicinity. John decided to try calling out to Marie again but he had a feeling she wasn't in. He went upstairs to the bedroom and knocked on it before pushing the door open. From the initial look the room appeared absolutely normal. He didn't want to snoop but from what he could tell the woman was currently missing (he still couldn't quite believe she would kill willingly) so he allowed himself to look closer at the items. The bed was untidy as if she climbed out of it quickly with the comforter tossed to the side. John knew she was the type to make her bed.

"She hasn't been here for at least a week." Sherlock snuck up behind him and entered the bedroom to look around. "Do you know if she has access to tools that could burn out a person's eyes?"

"I don't even _know_ of any tools that could do that damage. The eyes looked as if they were scooped out. If it weren't for the burns I would've thought that was what had happened." Sherlock didn't respond as he lifted up the comforter to sniff it. "But I don't believe she did."

"What makes you say that?"

"She worked for the church."

"No, I imagine they wouldn't have such weapons…" Sherlock stood up and looked to John. "We should-" Both men froze as they heard movement downstairs. John's hand slipped into the back of his pants and grabbed his pistol from the back of his pants and put himself in the ready position as Sherlock moved ahead of him. The two moved as quietly as possible across the carpet and down the stairs. Sherlock moved quickly towards the living room as John just spotted Marie standing there. In her hand she held what looked to be a vial of blood. Every sense went on high alert and he hurried after Sherlock as the man stood in the doorway. "Marie." The taller man called.

The woman didn't flinch –completely uncharacteristic of a woman who didn't know there were people in her house- and instead turned to look at them calmly. Her eyes held clear intelligence within them but they were not the same eyes John was used to seeing. They seemed colder and more distant. Confused as well almost as if she wasn't used to seeing other human beings. But this confusion faded quickly as she developed a half angry look. John knew somehow this was not Marie. Suddenly that possession thought became much stronger in his mind and much more logical. Whether it was an angel or demon was still up in the air. "How did you get in here?" She demanded.

"You left the door unlocked. I take it you were the one behind the murders?" Her eyes narrowed as she heard Sherlock speak. Sherlock moved closer to her. John moved near him knowing that Sherlock was unarmed. He would protect the reckless man. "How did you do it?" Sherlock asked in an almost eager manner. John spared him a glance as he was a bit exasperated. His eyes quickly flickered back to Marie. The next moment was a bit of blur that John couldn't remember the sights of very clearly but could distinctly remember the feeling, sound, and even taste of. He knew that Sherlock jerked forward suddenly and grabbed onto Marie's hand and John went after him with his gun aimed to shoot as his instinct for sudden movement kicked in. He felt Sherlock's hand on the ends of his fingers and suddenly he felt weightless for a split second. In that moment the contents of his stomach jumped and John could smell a cold ocean salt breeze (_Strange._ He had thought at the time). He thought he heard the loud sound of wings beating as if thousands of pigeons took flight in one singular powerful moment. The next second John felt the ground come back to his feet and all was still.

He didn't move for a moment as his stomach roiled in agony. Bile rode up his throat and he coughed before he heard a second cough. He jolted upright with his pistol pointed at ready but his vision wasn't steady at all. Still he put up the front. "John!" Sherlock's voice echoed for a moment in his head and John couldn't handle it anymore. He vomited to the side what he'd had for breakfast that morning and groaned softly. "Are you alright?" He heard Sherlock ask him and this time his voice sounded much more steady. John looked up at him and saw Sherlock giving him a worried look. He waved his hand a moment before he vomited a second time. Sherlock seemed to take this cue and paced quickly around the immediate area. John stood up straight and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He blinked.

And then he blinked a second time.

And then he realized he was most certainly not back in Marie's house.

His head turned left and right. They were in the middle of a road in what appeared to be a forest of sorts. The trees were thinned out and deep night was still upon…wherever they were. For a split fearful second John wondered if they had died but quickly dismissed such a thought. Sherlock was ahead of him. John couldn't see any road signs. He heard the sound of violent grunting not too far off from where his friend was. "This way, John!" Sherlock called and ran into the brush. John rushed after him glad to still have his weapon on him. It was a comfort to him in times of stress. The thrill of the attack pumped through his veins as he caught up to Sherlock and discovered two people fighting hand-to-hand. One John immediately recognized as Marie. She had blood on her cheek. The second figure was a man that was a bit taller than her with shaggy brown hair. He wore a tan trenchcoat but moved as if he was a soldier in an army. In his hand was silver blade that was nearly white. He seemed to be trying to stab Marie. John couldn't allow it. He pulled up his gun and aimed before firing straight into the man's shoulder.

The man grunted and jerked back from the blow but didn't cry out. In that moment he looked at John and his weapon was knocked away from his hand by Marie. The next second John heard that same sound of wings beating –much softer this time- and Marie disappeared. He stared. Marie was not human anymore, he realized.

Sherlock rushed the second man. "Where did she go?" He demanded. John had other questions in mind. The man gave them a stoic look and seemed to struggle with what appeared to be emotions for a moment.

"You let her get away." He said. His voice was rough to the ear. He was a young man probably between the ages of late twenties and mid-thirties. His hair was unkempt in a way that looked as if he didn't care how it looked but it wasn't greasy. His eyes held slightly dark bags like the man hadn't slept in the past couple of hours. His eyes held the same look as Marie had; as if he had seen thousands of years despite his age. It made John feel young. He felt guilty for shooting this man.

"Where did she _go?_" Sherlock insisted grabbing the man's coat angrily. He didn't like not having the knowledge of how a woman could disappear before his eyes. John no doubt knew the taller man also had an issue with the fact that they were certainly not in London anymore. How many hours had they lost to make it nighttime?

The man didn't respond. John was surprised that he didn't even flinch at his wound moving. Blood was flowing and staining his coat a bit. John's medical instincts kicked in. He didn't believe yet that he had done wrong for attacking the man but he couldn't let him bleed out. He put a hand on Sherlock's chest and addressed the mysterious man, "Let me treat your wound. I'm a doctor."

"I do not need it." The man looked at him now. John found himself drawn a bit to the wisdom in his eyes. Still those eyes held a hint of an almost…naïve feeling. "I am fine."

"You're bleeding; you're not fine." He adopted a stern tone and pushed Sherlock away to pull off the coat of the man. The blood was a bit matted but to his surprise the wound was already healed. He looked at the man. Before he could really think about what he was saying the words erupted from his mouth calmly, "You're an angel."

The man looked mildly surprised. Behind him John could practically hear Sherlock stiffen. "How…do you know about us?"

"Marie is possessed by an angel too, right?"

"Yes."

"The _Supernatural_ series is true too."

"You know of the prophet's books?" The man was continuously becoming confused.

"John." Sherlock tried but John ignored him and stepped back from the man. This must've been the first time that John knew more about the situation than Sherlock did. It was an impressive feeling.

John stepped back and sighed through his nose as he ran a hand in his hair. He couldn't believe what he was hearing but it must be true. Nothing else seemed logical at the moment. What was he suppose to say about all of this? The man's eyes looked between the two men questioningly. "What's your name?" John asked.

"Castiel." That solidified it for John.

"The angel's name from the books." Sherlock stated having memorized the name from the part he had read.

Castiel looked at him. "Yes." He said slowly. "You two know of Celestia."

"Who?" John asked.

"The woman you call Marie."

"Possessed by an angel." Sherlock stated in disbelief. John looked back at him as if to say, "I know it's insane but I was right, wasn't I?" And really John didn't feel the least bit in the wrong for feeling smug about this fact. It was always empowering for John to see Sherlock wrong on occasion.

"How do you know of her?" Castiel asked.

"We were chasing her and she…" What exactly was it that she did to them? He took a wild guess, "flew us here. Accidentally."

"You know what she is up to then. We lost her recently." Castiel considered them for a moment before he put a hand on both of their shoulders. "We can use your help." Within the next moment John had the same sensation of losing his footing and his stomach jumped. All he could think was, _I already hate this._

* * *

**A/N: Bit of a cliffhanger. What do you all think so far? Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

John's stomach lurched violently again as his feet touched ground and his ears stopped pounding from the abrupt and loud sound of (what he knew now were angel) wings. He had a feeling that Castiel was a bit more gentle with them than Marie had been so the effects of the flying (was it flying or teleporting?) weren't as harsh but still John wanted to vomit again. Luckily there was nothing left of his breakfast to throw up. He heard the sound of a couple safeties being taken off and instinctively John brought his own weapon up. They were now inside of a building but it was one that John had never seen before. It had a cabin-esque feeling to it but it was rather messy. Books were everywhere as far as John could see (even in other rooms) and many were in stacks. There seemed to be just enough area cleared out to live in. In front of him were three other men. The one closest to him was an older fellow with a receded hairline and grey hair. He was dressed like a hunter and he had a battle-roughed facade. On his face was a trimmed grey beard. He didn't have a gun in his hands but John could tell he would attack if need be. He knew a trained fighter when he saw one. The second-closest man was tall –taller than even Sherlock by a number of centimeters. He had shoulder-length brown hair and a young face. The man couldn't have been out of college for very long –if he wasn't in it. There was plenty of muscle on his form. The third man was shorter and looked to be about Sherlock's height (meaning he too towered over John, much to his annoyance). He had close-cropped hair (it couldn't have been more than five centimeters long) but it was lighter than the taller man's. He had serious brown eyes and a rough façade. He didn't appear much older than the other man. He was younger than John, at least. Out of the three John considered him the most dangerous and so pointed his pistol at him. Beside him Castiel didn't flinch and Sherlock stood stiffly but analytically. He was probably trying to think of a way out of this situation. Never mind that they have just suddenly appeared in a building.

"Cass, what the hell!" The dangerous man growled out in an American accent. John kept his eye trained on him but made careful note of the tallest man's position. The eldest man didn't more but was watching Sherlock warily as Sherlock was the closest.

"Don't shoot." Castiel said, moving forward and staring the dangerous man down. "Any of you." He glanced at John as well. John clenched his jaw. His every instinct told him not to put his weapon down but he knew who these people were. He knew them far too well. Sam and Dean were nothing how he had pictured them to be. Hell, as far as he knew Sam had died and Dean was with a family. How much of those books had been wrong? He chanced looking at Sherlock. The man was still analyzing their situation but after a moment he met John's eyes. He nodded his head infinitesimally and John reluctantly lowered his weapon. After a long pause Sam did as well but kept his gun firmly in his hands. Dean lowered his weapon with much more uncertainty. It appeared to John that Castiel had quite a bit of trust from these men. John wondered when Sherlock had learned to trust him. John knew who Castiel was but he didn't trust the angel for one moment. He was too much of a wild card in the books. Until he knew better he would only depend on Sherlock.

"What is this?" The man John assumed to be Sam (the taller one) asked as he continued to look at the newcomers warily.

"These two were chasing Celestia. They have information." Castiel said. Somehow John didn't think that constituted bringing them along to these hunters.

The shorter Dean must've had the same idea. "You couldn't have just _questioned_ them?" He demanded angrily.

"Exactly _who_ are you?" Sherlock suddenly interrupted the interrogation of the angel silkily. Everyone in the room looked at him. Sherlock's eyes were distant but sharp. "And where are we?" He moved himself around Castiel and closer to John's side. Unconsciously John felt a little comforted.

"Look pal, I don't know who you think you are but you can't just appear in here and started acting all high and mighty!" Dean snapped back. John could already tell these two would be a problem together. He could feel sparks igniting between them. He quickly addressed the other two men in hopes for a more civil conversation.

"We're sorry about just 'appearing'." He said and stepped forward to look like the mediator he was currently trying to be. They were clearly in a hostile situation with nobody knowing who each other were. Somebody needed to take the lead and since Sherlock and John were in the "wrong" he had no choice but to be the civil one. "Honestly we just had a hell of an hour. We don't even know where we are but my name in John and my friend here is Sherlock." He motioned to the coolly glaring man next to him. Dean was still glaring him down.

"Sherlock and John…Wait, not _the_ Sherlock and John? As in Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?" Sam spoke up shocked. Sherlock and John turned sharply to him.

"You know of us?" Sherlock asked. "I didn't know Americans looked at your website, John." He murmured to his friend.

"Neither did I." John muttered back.

"But those are just stories." Sam said confused.

"I'm sorry, stories?" John asked.

"What are you talking about Sammie?" Dean demanded looking at his brother finally.

"Dean, they're the ones from the books! You know, _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_?" Sam impressed upon his brother. Dean just gave him a look clearly not understanding and not quite caring.

"Is that one of yours?" Sherlock asked John. John shook his head.

"How do you not know-?" Sam started but Dean cut him off.

"We don't have time for you to be a nerd." Dean brushed his brother off. Sam glared at him exasperated.

"Dean's right, Sam –although he could be a bit better at saying it;" The older man spoke for the first time redirecting everyone's attention to him. He gave Dean a stern look that John would figure a father would give his own son. Previous knowledge gave him the understanding that this must be Bobby from the books. That is unless the books were more inaccurate than he had previously thought. Bobby moved from around the desk to be more on the brothers' side of the room opposite of where Sherlock, Castiel, and John stood and turned to address them. "I believe we have…_guests_ we need to get to know." He glanced at the angel as if he wanted to ask him something but decided against it. He instead addressed the Britons. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Bobby and these idjits here are Dean and Sam."

"Yes, we know." Sherlock said and startled the boys. Sherlock moved away from the desk and examined the room around him minutely with just his eyes. "You have books written about you. It's not hard to deduce who you are but these things about angels…" He sounded a bit disgusted. John wanted to sigh. Castiel looked at Sherlock in a slightly confused manner. "You can't expect me to believe all of this nonsense about 'angels' and 'possession'. There must be a logical explanation for all of this."

"Oh god, you're one of _those_ people." Dean groaned and finally put aside his weapon. Sam copied him. "What do you mean by books?"

"He's talking about those stupid _Supernatural _books." Sam muttered clearly disgruntled. John remembered reading that they hadn't been pleased about having books written about them. He had found it odd at the time that the writer had put himself into the series but if he really was a "prophet" as the book told (and Castiel confirmed) then it would all make sense. John had to agree that he wouldn't be too happy to have his life written out for him (in a somewhat mediocre fashion, he might add) without his consent. "Don't tell me those things are popular."

"Not really." John acquiesced.

"Finally something we can say hallelujah about." Dean grunted and went into the kitchen to grab a beer. He returned with two others to hand to the other Americans as he drank. Sam was watching Sherlock curiously while the man scanned the books on the shelf. John left Sherlock to his own devices. If he wasn't going to cause trouble then that would be a blessing. He didn't need men with guns to attack them because his flatmate wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut.

"Would you mind telling us exactly why you're here and what Castiel has to do with it?" Bobby asked. John nodded and found a chair to sit in stiffly. The atmosphere in the room was a bit more comfortable but he could tell nobody trusted each other yet. He would need to be on guard for now.

"To tell you the truth I'm still not quite sure what's happened. Last night Sherlock and I were in London when we were called on a case. Something from the museum was stolen and the eyes were burned from the guards' sockets."

"That's angels for you." Dean said as his eyes jumped to Castiel. Castiel said nothing but looked at Dean. Dean smirked a bit.

John continued. "We found out Marie…or I suppose she's Celestia…was the one who did it and went to her house. When we confronted her she tried to flee. We ended up…wherever it was Castiel was." He waved towards the angel.

"I was down on North Oakview Drive when I sensed her." He explained. John wondered again exactly _where_ they were.

"Why were you down there?" Sam asked. Castiel didn't appear like he was going to respond so John continued.

"Right…Anyhow I shot Castiel –I'm sorry about that, by the way- and Celestia escaped. Then we…we…Sherlock, what exactly are you doing?" John noticed the taller man holding some strange vial in his hand. It looked to be blood of some sort. He spilled it out onto his finger to feel the consistency while the others looked on in surprise and disgust.

"Human." He muttered. "I grabbed this from her when she teleported us to here. You were incapacitated at the time." He explained to John.

"That is angel blood." Castiel said and moved towards him. He reached for the vial but Sherlock held it out of his reach and narrowed his cat-like eyes. "Give it to me." Castiel demanded in the same tone but held a bit of an authoritarian undertone.

"Hey, hand that over!" Dean stood up from where he had been leaning on a table. Sam held a hand in front of him to stop him from attacking.

"I believe we deserve some answers now." Sherlock stated and moved over to where John was. John rose from his chair and stood next to him understanding exactly what he meant. "I don't know how we got here –teleportation is the most viable option considering I know the technology exists," John looked to Sherlock in shock. _He_ hadn't known that such technology existed, "but from what I have gathered you need our help."

"We don't _need_ anything from you! We have things handled on our own!" Dean objected. Sherlock pocketed the vial of blood and stood straighter as he faced him. John put his face in his hand knowing that look and stature.

"Here we go." He muttered.

"You're American obviously judging by the accent. The structure and attitude tell me that you're out of college –not that you ever went I'd wager- and look to be nearing your thirtieth. Wrinkles around your face and scars on your hands suggest you've had a rough life and if John's ridiculous books are anything to go on you are a hunter –of what I'm still in speculation about since monsters are children's tales. Your snarky attitude comes from fatherly neglect where you've had to take over the role to who I would think is your brother who is standing right next to you. Because of this you are defensive and angry at the world but I would never say you act like a child merely because your dearest father neglected you. I can tell see weariness in the bags under your eyes –a constant presence given how shocked your brother is seeing how he's just noticed them even though he himself has a number as well- and that weariness comes from the world. You don't like being alive and in fact if it wasn't for your family here you would already be dead am I right?"

Dean didn't respond. Sam looked at his brother in shock while Bobby had his mouth hanging open and looking at Sherlock as if he had just sprouted wings and a tail. Castiel said nothing and slowly turned his head to watch Dean as well. John tensed waiting to see where this would go. Finally the older Winchester moved and rapidly stomped over towards Sherlock growling, "You son of a bitch!" Sherlock didn't so much as move except to raise his head a bit. John didn't even bother to try to stop the attack but he rose to his feet in case he was needed. He knew how sensitive the boys were about their father and saying that he had neglected the Winchesters no doubt struck a nerve.

Sam quickly intervened though and grabbed his brother around the front. "Whoa whoa, Dean! Stop!"

"Let me go, Sammie! This guy needs a shiner and I intend to give it to him!" Dean yelled. Sherlock narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

"Dean, no!"

John gave Sherlock a reproachful look. "Was that all really necessary?" He questioned lowly.

"…Too much?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow. He seemed almost amused about John being upset with him.

"A little, yeah, considering they have guns and we don't know where we are. You didn't need to bring up old scars!" He scolded.

"If they're scars then they shouldn't hurt."

"Sherlock!"

Dean panted angrily as Sam finally managed to get his brother under control. He clenched his jaw and finally stormed off into the next room. Sam watched him go with a sigh and Bobby didn't move to stop him. Sam didn't look very happy with Sherlock either as he glared at him. "Thanks a lot." He said sarcastically. Sherlock didn't respond to him.

_This is why Sherlock needs to sleep more._ John thought to himself. After a moment he reconsidered because really who was he kidding? Sherlock would act this way whether or not he'd had a full night's rest. He was just thankful that no guns had been pulled. He couldn't bring himself to fight someone when really they deserved to punch Sherlock. (Although now that he thought about it that wasn't quite true; he wouldn't allow anybody to hurt Sherlock if he could help it. He himself wasn't included.)

"I'll be happy to answer any more of your questions if need be, Sam, but first can we know exactly _where_ we are? As I said, Sherlock and I were just in London not too long ago…"

"Yeah, sure." Sam said still put out for his brother. "You're in America now,"

"Obviously." Sherlock muttered under his breath as he flipped the pages of the book that lay on the desk in front of him. It appeared to be about Egyptians.

_For God's sake, Sherlock, behave for five minutes please._ John mentally begged before waiting for Sam to continue. Sam sent Sherlock an unappreciative look before he continued. John thought for a second he heard wings beat but he ignored it for the moment. "South Dakota to be exact. We're at Bobby's house."

John held out his hand to Sam and then Bobby with a nod. They both shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Please try to excuse my colleague here."

"Oh, it's colleague now? Not friend?" Sherlock asked still not letting his eyes stray from the book. Bobby moved over to the desk where he was at to keep watch over the man. He snapped a book (though it had a leather cover which suggested it wasn't actually a book) shut and pulled it away while Sherlock looked at him.

"Not while said friend is being an arse, no." John said back without having to look at him. Sam looked mildly amused by them. He could tell that the more reasonable one of the pair would be John. He tried to address him more. Anybody who could deal with Sherlock earned his respect in his book.

"Nice to meet you two as well. You're not how the books portray you." Sam admitted.

"Exactly _what_ books?" Sherlock asked, turning around. "What books are you talking about?"

Sam hesitated. "They're fiction books, I thought, but not many people have the name Sherlock Holmes I'm sure. John Watson may be a bit more common." Neither John nor Sherlock spoke as they waited. Sam waved a hand to accentuate what he was saying, "How do you two not know of them? Those detective books are _the_ detective books. Like, Sherlock Holmes in those books was practically the one who started up the crime fiction genre." John still looked confused. He had no idea about these books. Were they really as popular as Sam was saying? The younger Winchester turned to Bobby. "Come on, Bobby. Don't you know them? You read enough."

"Not that much fiction though. I tend to stick to the job." Bobby motioned to the nearby bookshelf. All of them contained lore on various monsters and –more recently- religions.

"But they're famous!" Sam looked disgruntled. He could understand Dean having never read them but even his brother should at least know the names. _Every _person who spoke English or knew a single lick about literature knew of Sherlock Holmes. Bobby should have most definitely known.

"Sam, I've never heard of either of these two guys." Bobby shrugged. "Maybe you're just tired. It's late, after all."

Sam doubted that was the case. He knew what he knew. Sherlock was still watching him pensively. The British man gave Sam the chills. While he wasn't all that surprised to watch Sherlock deduce his brother (Sherlock in the books _was_ a brilliant man so he supposed the real one would be too) he was shocked by exactly how accurate he was. He even knew about Dean's unwillingness to live. _That_ Sam hadn't been completely aware of. After the whole "Michael" incident he thought his brother had gotten over it. He would need to talk to him when he calmed down.

"Do you have any food?" Sherlock suddenly asked causing the Americans to blink. John even looked at his friend in surprise. "We haven't had breakfast and it's morning where we live." John frowned wondering why Sherlock was suddenly lying. Of course they'd had breakfast. Why on earth did Sherlock actually _want_ to eat again? It was terrific.

"Err, yeah. I got some chips in the cabinet. Help yourself, I guess, just don't cook anything. I don't have any extra beds but if you two want to clear the couch and sleep on that you can. Just don't mess anything up." Bobby offered.

"Thank you." John said as Sherlock already moved past Sam and into the kitchen to search the cabinets. After a moment John joined with a nod to them. "This isn't like you. _You_ want to _eat_? I know I've just met two angels but I didn't think heavenly influence would be upon you already." He asked his friend lowly with a hint of humour in his voice.

"I don't believe in a god and frankly I find all religions dull and tedious and I certainly don't believe in angels. Don't be stupid, John." Sherlock responded and found some barbeque flavoured crisps before he pulled out a bowl and set them on the table. Hesitantly John went to fill two glasses of water. He wasn't sure if they should take anything from the refrigerator. They both then sat down and John helplessly dug into the food. With his breakfast currently in the middle of the road somewhere his stomach was now empty and ready for just about anything. He glanced outside. It was black outside and from the clock on the wall it was nearly four in the morning but his body told him that it was nearing ten in the morning. He hadn't been out of the country since Afghanistan. It was quite a feeling for him to suddenly be six hours behind in his day. He wasn't tired at all physically anymore but he found there was nothing else he could really do until the Winchesters and Bobby woke up from their sleep. Emotionally and mentally he could use the rest.

He noticed that Sherlock wasn't touching the food and instead sipped his water. "Why did you ask for food if you're not going to eat?" He asked. Sherlock didn't respond and instead gave him a long look. John stared back at him searching his eyes. Despite how beautiful those orbs were they were still mysterious to him. They didn't express much but still John could at least read the man in front of him with enough cues. He looked away with a slight and embarrassing blush across his cheeks and didn't ask Sherlock again.

Sam watched the two Britons moving around in the kitchen as Bobby came up to him. "What do you think of them?" The older man asked quietly while watching them too. Sam couldn't help but sense the closeness between the two. He wondered if there was something more to them than just friends. Maybe they were lovers? Somehow that wouldn't surprise him. But John had called him his friend and colleague so Sam wouldn't bring it up.

"I don't know." He admitted back in the same volume. "I don't think they're really bad. Sherlock seems like an asshole but they don't look like they want to harm us. I trust Cass." Bobby reluctantly nodded in agreement before he and Sam left the room to head upstairs.

* * *

Dean stormed out of Bobby's house and into the scrap yard flexing his fingers furiously. He wanted to punch that man. He wanted to hurt him for even daring to say that stuff to his face. How could he just blurt out all of Dean's secrets in one moment by just a look? How did he _know?_ He obviously hadn't read the books –he could tell by the look in the eyes of Sherlock- so how did he know Dean's most hidden secret? Sam wasn't to know that Dean still hated his life. It was supposed to be held within his heart until all of this was over (but would it ever be over?).

He turned around a stack of trashed cars and stood with his back pressed against the cold metal. "Goddammit!" He growled and punched the metal hard enough to hurt but not too much. He shouldn't be so worked up about it. He had other issues to worry about than some asshole who had just appeared in the house. Why the hell had Cass even brought them? They had information about Celestia? From what he had heard they didn't know much more than they did. But it wasn't like Castiel to just take people and plop them in front of the Winchesters –especially if they were human. A part of Dean wanted to throw holy water in that sonovabitch Sherlock's face to see if maybe a demon was boiling within him. It was doubtful, he knew. Castiel wouldn't do something like that.

"Speaking of the devil…" He muttered to himself as the distinct sound of beating wings whispered on the wind and Dean felt a presence nearby. He opened his eyes to see Castiel standing a couple feet away from him. He didn't appear worried but the slightest inclination within the arches of his eyebrows showed that he actually was. Dean prided himself in being able to notice subtle things about the stoic man.

"Angel, actually." Castiel corrected calmly. "Unless you actually were speaking of Lucifer?"

"Of course not! It's a figure of speech." It still always amused Dean how little Castiel knew about humans and their ways of speaking. He felt a little cheered up at the thought.

"Oh." He didn't move. Dean turned and walked a little closer to him before leaning against the car next to the angel. Castiel stood upright and watched him. It was still strange how he just stared and watched much of what was happening. He didn't react like humans –although he had his moments when he seemed almost human- and that was in all honesty a little bit creepy. But Dean supposed that was what happened when you watch humanity for thousands of years without having to really interact with anyone or anything. One would get used to silently watching. He needed to break Cass more out of that shell.

"You didn't need to bring them." Dean stated. "We could've figured this out on our own."

Castiel blinked once. "Maybe so but every clue helps, I thought?"

"Yeah, I guess." He grunted.

"Would you have rather me left them stranded then?" Dean didn't respond for a moment as he honestly considered the answer. It wouldn't have been nice to just leave two mishaps on the side of the road. The poor jackasses didn't even really know how they ended up there. Cass could just take them home at any time. Maybe Sherlock deserved it but at least John seemed sane enough. They still didn't have to come to the Winchesters, though.

"They freaking shot you, Cass."

"They did." Castiel confirmed.

Dean eyed the blood patch on the shoulder of the angel. He didn't like to see anybody he cared for injured. He didn't like blood. "All healed up then?" He asked warily.

"Yes."

"Good." He pushed off of the car and crossed his arms as he looked up at the sky. Neither of them spoke for a period of time. Dean sighed out roughly. He felt calmed down now. Castiel seemed to have that way with him: either the angel riled him up (unintentionally or not) or he managed to soothe Dean. More so the former than the latter. He was thankful it wasn't that way this time. He was exhausted. He'd driven nearly fifteen hours to Bobby's today and he'd been researching with the two the rest of the time. He wanted to sleep. He began to make his way back to the house when he paused and looked back over his shoulder. Castiel was gazing at the sky silently. "Do you need to go back?" He asked.

"…Yes, soon. I need to make sure that Uriel's forces are not breeching."

"You'll be back?" Dean mentally cursed the slightly desperate hope in his voice. He admittedly missed hanging out with Castiel. It had been fun while it lasted.

Castiel met his eyes. Something flashed in those blue orbs but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived not allowing Dean time to process what it could've been. "Yes."

"…Alright then." He responded and blinked. Castiel was gone then. He frowned. He didn't like the angel leaving so often –after all Cass was family to him by now- but he respected his decisions. Besides he knew Castiel could handle himself. He turned to head back inside as he glanced at his watch. It was well past four in the morning. Sam and Bobby would possibly be in bed. Would the English guys be as well? He entered into the house quietly to find the lights turned down low but in the study where everyone had last been only Sherlock and John were left. The smaller man seemed to napping on the cleared couch with scrunched eyebrows. He didn't appear to be the least relaxed. Dean didn't blame him. Nearby sitting at the foot of the couch with the little bit of room left for him was Sherlock was a book opened in his hands. He was reading quickly by the movement of his eyes. He didn't bother to look up as Dean entered. Dean felt the scowl appear on his face at the sight of him. He was sure that before the end of their acquaintance together he was going to punch the Brit in the face.

He decided against confronting him at this time in favour of just going to get a couple of hours of sleep but it seemed Sherlock had other ideas. A deep voice rang out softly into the silence, "I have never read your books, you know." Dean paused at the foot of the stairs and turned to walk back to the entrance way into the study. His suspicions flared and he stood on guard.

"…What?" He demanded.

"Your books." Sherlock didn't look up from what he was reading. He didn't appear to have even stopped reading. "I've never read them. John has."

"But you know about the angels." Dean stated crossing his arms. Sherlock flipped the page. From where he was Dean couldn't tell what the man was reading.

"I only read a small section. I'm not a fan of fantasy."

"It's not fantasy!" Dean raised his voice with his anger simmering. "That's our _lives_ you're talking about!" John shifted on the couch as his brows furrowed further. Dean snapped to his form. Sherlock scooted back on the couch so that John's foot was casually pressed to his thigh. The older Englishman settled down and seemed to fall back asleep after a few moments. Dean suddenly was left to question their relationship but decided to drop it.

Sherlock finally looked up from his book to meet Dean's eyes. His voice remained carefully neutral, "John has informed me that I may have said too much."

"You sure as hell did!" Dean agreed but his voice was a bit lower now. Sherlock seemed to appreciate that. The man's jaw clenched and unclenched as he seemed to roll his next response around on his tongue.

"I'm…sorry. I didn't know."

Dean was left floundering for a moment having not expected an apology but finally regained footing and maintained his superiority. "Well next time watch what you say! Sam and I haven't exactly grown up with an easy life and I don't need some jackwagon to go around and add more worry to him!"

"Fine." Sherlock dropped his gaze back to the book seemingly through with the conversation. Dean didn't wait and went upstairs to go sleep.

* * *

When John woke up he half expected to see the noon sun shining in through the windows of his flat. He half expected Mrs. Hudson to be making tea (most likely for Sherlock) in the kitchen and he also half expected to be commanded to do something by said flatmate. He felt like he had just lived a dream where he had met characters from a book that couldn't possibly be real and his view on reality had been thrown for a loop with the discovery of angels. However all of his expectations were proven wrong as he woke up in an unknown house with the distinct coolness of morning settling upon the room he was in. He could not smell any tea brewing but instead the heady scent of coffee. He couldn't see Sherlock anywhere and his body was sore. John knew that he hadn't slept for very long by the fact that he hadn't dreamt and hadn't slept deeply. He couldn't have been napping for more than a few hours. Despite his predicament he felt refreshed and sat up with a long stretch to pop his joints before looking around. Around his form Sherlock's coat was haphazardly placed –most likely thrown on top of him to put it in a place he would remember- and his scarf was lying on the floor. John pushed his covers off and stood up to glance into the kitchen.

Bobby sat in the kitchen by himself with a mug of coffee and a laptop in front of him. He still looked tired from the sight of his slouching form. John wondered why he was up when he could've slept longer. He vaguely recalled that Bobby didn't have a specific time he really needed to be up and from the clock on the wall it was nearing eight in the morning. John found it a strange feeling to know that it was still the same day he had left from London. What time would it be over there? He did quick math. It would be nearing two in the afternoon. His stomach growled for lunch but he ignored it for the time being.

Bobby looked up at John's entrance. "Mornin'."

"Good morning." John greeted back. He glanced at the coffee before deciding against it and sitting at the table. Bobby was watching him. John looked around the room. "Is nobody else awake yet?"

"Nope. It was just you and me when I came down here. The boys are still asleep and I don't know where your boyfriend went."

"We're not a couple." John said with the words rolling in a familiar manner off of his tongue. Really he should've known someone was going to say that. It followed them everywhere.

"Could'a fooled me." Bobby muttered into his coffee mug as he took a gulp. John didn't know why he bothered anymore. "Got any idea where he could'a went?"

John shook his head. "I don't understand how he works much better than you do." He admitted.

"I don't know if you put too much faith in yourself. You seem to have a decent grasp on him." Bobby chuckled. John managed a half-smile before it dropped. The only reason he knew as much as he did was because he lived with the man.

The two of them sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes before John finally worked up the nerve to speak, "Can I ask you something?" He asked as he leaned a bit on the table.

"Go ahead."

"I don't know how accurate the books are anymore but…everything in the books…are they true?"

"What parts?" Bobby grunted. "I've never read them myself out of respect for the boys' privacy. I don't even know where they ended."

"I was referring to the monsters and demons."

"Oh definitely." John supposed he should've already known that. It was rather ridiculous to think by this point that it could all be fake but then again Sherlock still seemed to have that in mind. It would take a lot to convince the man.

"…Did Sam really…become possessed by Lucifer?" He hesitantly asked trying to be careful.

Bobby's eyes turned sharp and he narrowed them. "So that much has been written, huh?" He demanded. John didn't respond. "Yeah, all of that really happened."

"Then how did…?"

"None of us know and frankly I'm just grateful."

"And Dean? What of his family?"

"Sam is his family too." Bobby said defensively. John watched him for a moment and realized it would be better to drop this conversation.

He nodded. "Right."

"Anyway," Bobby cleared his throat and stood, "do you want something? I'm not too bad of a cook but I'm not used to cooking for too many."

"I'll help." John offered and stood. "We're the ones who came over unannounced."

"Is everyone else awake now?" A voice sounded from right behind John and the man started violently with a loud, "Jesus Christ!" slipping from his lips. He spun around to find Castiel suddenly in the kitchen with them looking exactly as John had last seen him. In the daylight he discovered that the angel had rough stubble on his face as if he hadn't shaved in a long time. He doubted he had. He didn't think that angels aged when they possessed humans. "Castiel." Castiel corrected John.

"Right." John sighed and hurried to move over to where Bobby had already pulled out some pans.

"Are they awake?" Castiel repeated standing in the middle of the room and looking at Bobby.

"No. I don't know what happened to Holmes either." Bobby told him.

"I suppose I should try to find him but I would probably get lost." John sighed a second time which quickly became a yawn. He was already moving towards the bread as Bobby went for the fridge. "Chances are he'll appear back in here." It was almost as if on cue as a figure swooped into the room carrying with him what looked to be a femur. Sherlock appeared excited with his eyes bright.

"I must say you have some fascinating stuff in your house, Robert!" He exclaimed as he entered.

"Hey, put that back! I need that!" Bobby cried and pointed to the study. Sherlock listened and placed it on the couch before he went to go wash his hands.

"Bones, dried fingers, deceased frogs; John I feel right at home!"

"Glad to see you're having fun." John muttered in monotone. Castiel watched Sherlock curiously. Sherlock met his eyes and smirked a bit before he approached him.

"So where is it?"

"Where is…what?" Castiel asked clearly confused.

"The teleporting device. It must be small if you can activate it at anytime. Let me see it." Castiel's eyes lingered on Sherlock for a moment before jumping to Bobby and John for help.

"I…do not understand." Sherlock made a disgruntled noise and held out his hand.

"The device, Castiel."

"Sherlock." John decided to rescue the angel and put a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "He's not using teleportation. He has wings. He's an angel."

"You can't expect me to believe that, John." Sherlock said with narrowed eyes. John removed his hand and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"There's not much else to believe right now." Sherlock mulled that thought around before he turned back to Castiel.

"Show me physical proof then." He demanded. "If you're an angel then where are the supposed wings that you used to get us here?"

"Most humans cannot see my true form without losing their eyes. It can be…overwhelming." Castiel stated. He appeared a little unnerved by Sherlock's abrasiveness. At least he wasn't getting angry.

"Yes, we've seen evidence of that. Why is that? Why are we not able to see your true form?"

"Because a human's physical body is not able to handle it." Castiel tilted his head slightly to the side and his eyes scanned Sherlock's form as if seeing something. Whatever it was he saw it made him develop a curious look.

"But _why_?" Sherlock demanded.

"Hey, can you not bother Cass with all of these questions?" John turned to see Dean and Sam walk into the room. Sam yawned and stretched long arms into the air. He had some sweat on his head and from the looks of him he had just finished a morning work-out. Dean looked a bit more rested than he had last night but the bad attitude still seemed to linger around him. John was prepared to break up fights today.

Sherlock only made a face but he moved away from the angel. Castiel continued to watch him. John's eyes furrowed. What exactly was so fascinating that Castiel had to keep staring at Sherlock? A part of him suggested that Castiel was attracted to Sherlock (the man was certainly attractive with those cheekbones) but his logic quickly discarded such an idea. Castiel didn't seem the type to really fall in love with someone (and if anybody it would not be Sherlock) and the angel didn't seem to be looking _at_ Sherlock but rather _through_ him. With a start John suddenly wondered if he could see the Briton's soul. Was such a thing possible? Was it really so transfixing?

"Mornin' Bobby." Sam greeted and gave a nod towards John and Sherlock. "What's for breakfast?"

"Just usual stuff." Bobby said as he moved the eggs around on the pan. John went back to buttering the cooling toast before he tried to help at the stove. Dean and Sam plopped down into the chairs. Dean noticed that Castiel was staring at Sherlock as well. He frowned.

"Hey Cass." The angel looked at him. "What's with the staring?" Sherlock had lost interest in the breakfast being made and sat down at the abandoned laptop to start clicking away on it. Sam looked like he disapproved and would probably say something but Dean wasn't paying attention to him.

"He has an…interesting soul." Cass explained as he carefully moved to sit next to Dean. His eyes kept drifting back to Sherlock who didn't appear to be paying attention as he was too engrossed in whatever he was doing on what was actually Sam's computer.

"How the hell did you guess the password?" Sam exclaimed, shocked.

"I never guess." Sherlock said as if that explained everything.

"Yes, you do." John countered from where he was flipping some bacon. Dean felt his mouth twitch as he saw Sherlock's eyes twitch slightly at being caught. He had a feeling John would be useful.

"Interesting how?" Dean returned to his own conversation. Castiel struggled to find the words for a few moments.

"It is…bubbling? I do not know how to describe it. It's constantly moving. It is like it can barely be contained within his body." Dean's eyebrows furrowed.

"Well what the hell does that mean, then?"

"I don't know. Most humans' souls are settled within their bodies. His is not."

"I think that it's about time we talk about why we're all gathered here." Bobby spoke up suddenly and dropped a couple of plates on the table in front of everyone. He skipped over Castiel and went into the study to grab two more chairs. John thanked him and took a seat next to Castiel and Bobby. Bobby sat at the end with Sherlock and closed the laptop on him and pulled it away. Sherlock's hands were still poised in midair and he stared at the oldest man in the room. "No computers while eating." Dean hid a grin at Bobby's fatherly tone and shared a look with an equally amused Sam.

Sherlock lowered his hands with a glower at Bobby but allowed it. John had a hidden grin on his own face apparently entertained as well. "Yes, I would like to know what you all have to do with this case. What do you know? I need all of the facts."

"There are way too many facts to tell you." Dean said.

"It'd be easier to just say that Celestia is a rogue angel that was under Cass's command." Sam spoke up and claimed everyone's attention. Dean eagerly began to dig into his breakfast having already known all of these facts. "She's after something but we don't exactly know what. She's just…taking things and seems to be trying to attract someone's attention."

"Any idea who?" John asked. Sam shook his head.

"We were hoping you would know. So she stole something from London?"

"Yes, a weapon of some sort. A gun it looked like."

"Why would an angel need to steal a gun?" Bobby asked looking around at everyone and then stopping on Castiel.

"I don't know." Castiel told them.

"This is the first time she's stolen something. She left a message when she was here in America but it was in a language we didn't understand." Dean said after he took a gulp of his orange juice.

"Do you have a picture?" Sherlock demanded.

"Yeah, here." Sam dug into his back pocket and pulled out a mobile. He clicked away on it for a moment before he handed it over to Sherlock. The man scanned over the picture with a frown. John could tell he couldn't recognize it either. After a few moments he passed it to John. John could see from the picture that the picture was burnt into the ground rather ferociously. It looked like a large circle with a lot of smaller circles and lines inside of it. A second smaller circle was connected to it. John frowned. This was a language? He'd never seen anything like it.

"What's the connection?" Sherlock wondered aloud and stood up from his chair to begin pacing. "First Utah, then Germany, and now London…_why?_ What does she _want_? Think think!" He commanded himself and hit his head a bit lightly with the palms of his hands.

"Is this normal for him?" Dean muttered to John.

"He has his methods." John responded as he went back to eating.

"Shut up! Everybody shut up!" He yelled causing the Americans to jump. "I need quiet!" He stormed out of the room then leaving the others confused. John sighed.

"Sorry about that. He's a brilliant man but he…"

"Isn't exactly up to par on his socializing skills, is he?" Dean scoffed. "He's worse than Cass." He jerked his thumb to his friend.

"I'm getting better…" Castiel said somewhat disheartened. Dean stood up with his cleaned plate and patted the angel on the back before he leaned over to grab Sherlock's food and eat it. Sam gave Dean a look as if to say "That wasn't appropriate" but Dean just looked at him with a full mouth and shrugged.

"Are we sure we can trust your friend there?" Bobby asked John motioning with his head the direction Sherlock had taken off to. John studied him for a moment and took notice of the fact that he had been referring to only Sherlock. Had he somehow gained their trust? He didn't really see how. He himself didn't even fully trust these men. He had no reason to as of that moment.

"…Sorry?" He asked not quite understanding the full intention of the question.

"You heard me."

"Trust him with what, exactly? Your secret of monsters and such?" He felt himself become a bit defensive. He didn't like Sherlock being attacked in any way. He kept his temper under tight control, though. "Because if that's the case I don't believe you have anything to worry about given the books and the fact Sherlock himself doesn't even believe in them."

"We mean the case." Sam corrected sensing the hostility in John's tone. "Can he handle this kind of case? Or do you want to go home?"

John frowned and looked at him. "Go home?"

"Cass, you can take them back to London right?" Sam asked the angel. Castiel nodded.

"It is not an issue." He looked like he had more to say but he didn't voice it.

"If possible I'd like to decline the offer. Sherlock loves a good case. You couldn't make him go home if you wanted." John said.

"Sounds almost like a challenge." Dean joked and leaned back in his chair. John searched him to see if it was really a joke. He could tell Dean still had a bone to pick with Sherlock.

"Look, if anybody can solve this case it's Sherlock. He may not believe in what is in front of him –mostly from lack of physical evidence- but that doesn't mean he can't track this angel down." In that John had full faith and everyone in the room could hear it.

"John!" Sherlock suddenly called from the other room. John ignored him until his name was called again louder this time. "John! I need your phone!" Sherlock moved around to stand in the study. He threw himself down onto the couch to lie down and casually pushed the femur off of it. Bobby tsked loudly next to John.

"Why, exactly?" John asked and got up to rinse off his plate. Sherlock's hands were placed in front of his mouth in that praying position he often took up when he was thinking hard. Somehow John knew the man had on a nicotine patch somewhere.

"I may have figured out who Celestia is trying to contact."

"What? Who?" Dean demanded standing. Sam followed suit as his brother entered the study to stare at Sherlock. Castiel and Bobby followed behind. Sherlock didn't respond and was instead staring intensely at the ceiling with his mouth moving silently. His eyes expressed the thoughts he was silently wording. "Tell us!" Dean cried.

"Be quiet! I can't concentrate over you!" Sherlock snapped at him. John moved quickly to get in between the two and handed his phone to his friend.

"Why do you need mine? Surely you have yours." Sherlock took the phone and held it in between his hands in consideration.

"Of course I do." He breathed. John waited for him to continue. "But my mobile is not international." John blinked and looked up in confusion before looking back down at him.

"And you think mine does?"

"It doesn't?" Sherlock asked finally turning to look up at him.

"No."

The taller Briton sat up swiftly. "Mobile! I need a mobile in order to contact Mycroft!" He held out a hand to the Winchesters.

"Celestia is trying to contact Mycroft?" John asked bewildered.

"Of course not, John! I need Mycroft to get to Torchwood!"

"Torchwood?" The others asked.

"Nothing you lot need to know about." Sherlock muttered.

"We don't have international either." Sam said.

"Gah, all of you useless!" He stood and pulled out his own mobile and tossed John back his. He texted swiftly on his phone.

"Well excuse us, princess!" Dean grumbled.

"Why aren't you able to contact Mycroft on your phone?" John asked as he watched Sherlock pace. The man finished texting and stood still as he waited for whatever response he was going to get. "Surely he had British?"

"Of course he does but I need to contact a specific line and his office won't pick up for me any longer." He grumbled under his breath something about putting them in jail accidentally when he was younger or something before he let the breath go.

"Who's Mycroft?" Bobby asked.

"Who the hell names their kid 'Mycroft'?" Dean asked.

"Sherlock's family, clearly." John answered him.

"Is that a normal name for-" Dean was cut off by an erotic moan emitting from near Sherlock. Everyone's heads snapped to him. "What…the _hell_ was that?" Sherlock pulled out his phone with a smirk at what was on it.

_-I'm having a party. Care to join? –SH -_

_-Is dinner involved? -_

"_That _was Sherlock." John responded and stared shocked at his friend. "The Woman? You're in contact with her?"

"Of course I am." Sherlock responded distracted.

-_Too many guests for that. –SH –_

"But she's dead! Mycroft told me she was beheaded!"

"And?"

"And that…that only…Oh good lord, _that's_ where you disappeared to for those days when I thought you were _cross_ with her?" John demanded exasperated. Sherlock sent him a smirking look. Only Sherlock Holmes could've stopped her death, Mycroft had insinuated. Apparently that was exactly what he had done.

"And let such a capable woman die? No, she owes me her life. I can use her." The erotic moan went off again.

-_It can be a group meal. -_

"Why does it make that noise?" Castiel asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"It's her message tone, I guess." Sam muttered looking a bit uncomfortable.

"It's pretty sexy." Dean grinned. "Girlfriend?"

"No." John said a bit too sharply. Sherlock glanced at him and then away. "More like an enemy." His contempt for her was barely hidden.

-_We don't need those services. We're coming over –SH -_

"Someone's jealous!" Dean coughed under his breath. John sent him a long look clearly meant to say "We're _not_ dating" but it was interpreted and then ignored by the older Winchester.

"I guess I'll go clean up." Bobby suggested and left the room.

"Castiel." Sherlock attracted the angel's attention and quieted the silent glaring from John. "Can you teleport anywhere in the world?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes still not understanding the concept. "He means flying." John cleared up.

"Whatever." Sherlock muttered.

"Yes." Castiel responded.

"How many can you take?"

"All of us, if it is not far."

"That won't take too much out of you?" Sam asked him sounding a bit worried. Castiel looked at him.

"As long as it is not too far." He confirmed.

"It's here in America." Sherlock told him.

"When did she get to America?" John demanded.

"Keep up, John. Is this really the time?" Sherlock sighed. He checked his phone one more time as it moaned again before he put it away.

- _I'll have to put on my best dress. -_

"I think I would like to know, yeah!" John crossed his arms.

"Girls can you have your lover's spat later?" Dean broke it up. "It's adult time over here! Let's get going before this bitch has time to kill more people!"

"Yes, alright." John muttered and joined the brothers by Castiel. Sherlock grabbed his hand as Castiel placed a hand on both Dean and Sherlock's shoulders and Sam put a hand on his brother's other shoulder.

"We'll see you, Bobby!" Dean called as Bobby appeared. The older man nodded and then they were gone.

* * *

**A/N: Wow I'm not used to all of these characters. I'm hoping I'm keeping their interactions right.**

**Review please!**


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was certainly much gentler in his flight (if that was even possible) as John had suspected. When they had arrived the food had jumped in his stomach but he didn't have a reflux and didn't lose any of that food. Still he felt a bit of vomit in his throat and he cleared it before taking in his surroundings. Hidden within the suburbs of the city (what city John didn't know; he couldn't see any signs) was a clean white two-story house with a dark wooden door. A short three stone steps led up to the ground floor. John wondered if this was Irene's house. It seemed almost too civilian. The last house John had met with the Woman in had been rather ostentatious in comparison to what John usually had to see. Sherlock wasted no time in approaching the door not bothering to look back. He had that excited atmosphere around him now that he's caught a whiff of a new trail. Nothing would slow him down now. John glanced back at the Winchesters and Castiel as the four joined the detective. Both men seemed to be studying the house not sure of what to expect. John empathized. Castiel once again did not show any emotion. If he was confused about their location then he didn't say.

Sherlock knocked only a short three times on the door and didn't move. His hands tucked behind his back and he stood confidently with his back straight. John studied him feeling uncomfortable and against this whole decision to even meet up with Irene Adler. He didn't particularly think they needed to meet up with her. He wanted to tell Sherlock this but he knew better. Sherlock no doubt already knew and had already made steps away from John's thinking that would make this all worthwhile. Why did they have to go through this much just to call Mycroft, though? There must be a better trick.

The door opened without a sound and in the doorway stood the woman that John had assumed was her maid, play-thing, girlfriend, or all of the above (with the last choice being the most likely in his mind). She didn't seem to have changed much since John had last seen her (unconscious because of the American intruders but relatively unharmed) and quite frankly he was a little surprised to see her there. He didn't think this woman would move with Irene. But then again he hadn't known Irene was alive so he didn't give it much more thought. A knowing smile slid onto her face as she gazed around at the five men. After a moment her eyes landed on Sherlock. "Hello, Mr. Holmes. What a surprise."

"I haven't time for games. Your mistress is expecting us." Sherlock said in a clipped but vaguely polite tone.

The woman only nodded and looked a bit more amused. "Of course. If you'll follow me…" She turned and led the five men through a short foyer. John spotted the hunters beside him looking all around the well-to-do house with somewhat suspicious eyes. He wondered if that was a habit of theirs they had developed due to said hunting. He supposed that if demons lurked around every corner to him he would also keep very good track of his surroundings. An epiphany dawned in him that these two (three; he forgot to ensure Castiel since the man appeared so calm) had not just walked out of a book. Their lives coexisted in the same world as John's. Demons _did_ lurk around every corner in his life as well and he hadn't known it. A chill ran up his spine and his fear –however tentative it may have been- must have shown on his face because Sam caught his eye then. A silent comprehension passed between the two and Sam smiled reassuringly if not a bit sadly.

_I know how that feels._ His look said to John. It was the best he could do while being subtle and John appreciated not allowing his fear to be voiced. He was a soldier and frankly letting this new life wash over him in this situation would not do. He would save his terror for later when they were all in private and John could hopefully find a room to himself to give his mentality time to adjust. And then he will have questions for these men.

The exchange lasted in the short time it took for them to sit down on a single extended couch in the living room. It was long enough to fit all five men (a bit uncomfortably and John considered just standing considering he was surrounded by all of these _freakishly tall_ men) and across from them was a single chair. A thin but tastefully shag carpet lay on the floor between the seating and in front of the fireplace. John wondered exactly why the room was set up like this and various scenarios in which sex and different sexual positions could take place in various areas in this room popped into his mind. He cleared his throat quietly as he shifted. He hoped this couch was clean. He was suddenly uncomfortably aware of Sherlock's proximity to him.

"Keep your mind here, John." Sherlock said and his eyes darted without moving his head towards his partner. John looked at him in confusion before he realized his thoughts had been discovered.

"R-Right, well." He clasped his hands together and placed them in his lap. A few moments later Irene's girlfriend(?) came into the room carrying a tray with tea on it along with a small foldable table. She placed it in the middle between the chairs and poured everyone a cup before glancing at them to see what they wanted in it. John told her just a bit of cream and no sugar. Sherlock denied any tea as did Dean (with a hint of disgust). Sam frowned as if he wasn't sure and finally decided on a bit of cream and sugar. Castiel just took it straight and gazed at the flavoured water with slight confusion. The woman took Dean's as her own and fixed Sherlock's as John suspected Irene would take it before she took away the extra items. John quietly took a sip and was satisfied with the taste. Sam didn't take well to the flavour and returned it to the table as Dean grinned at him. Castiel glanced over at John seeing as he was the only one left with the tea and decided to at least try it. He finished it rather quickly considering it was too hot and then placed the empty cup and saucer back onto the table. He didn't appear affected either way.

"So we're here for…what, exactly?" Dean started the conversation considering they were all alone.

"A phone, apparently." Sam answered. John drank some more.

"Was it really worth coming all of this way for?" He questioned. "Wouldn't it be easier to transport…or fly…to London instead and see your brother then?"

"I cannot take all of you that far. It would require too much energy." Castiel admitted. He was eyeing Sam's abandoned tea as if he was wondering what it would taste like.

Sherlock turned his attention to him with an intrigued look in his eye. "And separately? Could you take us one at a time?"

Castiel shook his head. "If anything that would be more difficult." Sherlock noted this knowledge.

"How much energy would it take to transport two of us across to London?" He questioned. John looked at him wondering if the man wanted to go back to London already. In some way they would need to he supposed. Their case _was_ in London after all and he needed to give information (or at least watered-down information considering the…supernatural component of the case) to Lestrade seeing as they were on his case. He also needed to go to work and tomorrow he had a therapist appointment (not that he always made his appointments anyway. Ella had a general idea of his "job" after all).

Dean and Sam eyed him as they caught on to the fact Sherlock had figured something out. Castiel seemed to sense this as well. "More than what it took to take us all here. A little less than it would when I take us back." He said. "I'll need to rest if we are to do anymore travelling."

"If we're going anywhere, we're taking the Impala." Dean denied the travelling with a scowl. "I'm already not going to be able to crap for a week because of this. I hate travelling this way. I like to keep my feet on the ground, thanks." Sam granted his brother an amused look. John was glad to know he wasn't the only one who had internal problems travelling this way. It must be common then. He hoped he didn't become constipated on top of things.

Sherlock relaxed back into the little space he had on the shared couch looking smug. John raised an eyebrow at him. "What have you discovered?" He prompted knowing that the man was waiting for such a trigger.

"The woman –Celestia- won't be teleporting from her present location for at least another twenty hours." He folded his hands in front of his face.

"So?" Dean asked. Sherlock didn't answer as the sharp tapping across the flooring attracted their attentions. The footsteps came to a stop and there standing against the wall was Irene Adler –the Woman- looking as lovely as she did before and certainly not without her head. Her hair was a new colour –a clean blonde- and was tucked into a nice French twist on the back of her head. Her entrance this time was not one of stark nudity as she had greeted them before (John was glad for this) but instead she wore a thin blue (the same colour as Sherlock's favourite scarf) lace gown. Through it her nipples were barely covered by a design swirling around the top but the rest of her was clad for all to see. It appears this time she decided to wear underwear but that was also lace and so it barely hid much. She had a sly but blissful smile dancing on her lips in that flirtatious way that came with her presence –almost as if she had a secret she had about you that she wanted to tell but found it funnier to watch you beg her for it instead. Dean and Sam's eyebrows shot up at the sight of the Woman and Dean made a low noise of appreciation in his throat. "Damn." He whispered. The testosterone levels in the room seemed to shoot up. Castiel's eyes furrowed as he gazed at her. Why was this woman exposing herself so much? John tried not to look phased and for the most part succeeded. After all, he'd seen her nude.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." Irene crooned kindly and walked into the room before she took seat across from the men. Her eyes scanned all of them. Dean was grinning like a dog with a juicy meal in front of it. Sam for the most part looked a bit uncomfortable but actually was a bit impressed as well. "My, it really _is_ a party. You brought along three models with you. I'm flattered." Her eyes flashed curiously.

"We're not here for your services." Sherlock denied coolly.

"What kind of services?" Dean asked as he leaned forward with interest. Irene smiled and indulged him as she also leaned forward a bit.

"That depends on what your likes are."

"Oh, I have a _lot_ of likes."

"Can you two please stop with your flirting?" Sherlock shot Dean a glare.

"He's right. We're on a case." Sam confirmed a little exasperated by his brother. Admittedly he couldn't blame him for the flirting though; this woman was rather attractive.

"I _would_ like to know what you're doing to grace me with your lovely cheekbones." Irene said and her look was practically a caress across Sherlock's cheeks. Sherlock was unaffected. Whatever affect she'd had on him in the past had been effectively stolen away from him when she had used him. Still he held her in the highest respect a woman can receive from him which that in and of itself was a task. But she did not attract him sexually or romantically in the least. He couldn't tell if she still held feelings for him but knowing human –and specifically women's- nature he knew that her love for him would never fully disappear. (It was, however, taken into consideration that the Woman was not an average woman so there was a chance of him being wrong).

"I need your phone." Sherlock held out his hand. Irene looked honestly surprised.

"You know I can't just hand over my phone, Mr. Holmes." She lowered her head with that mysterious smile of hers but there was an undertone there that John sensed.

Sherlock gave a bit of a laugh. "Have you already gathered blackmail on the highest officials of this country?" Dean and Sam looked at him in shock and then to Irene. They had a new opinion of her already. What had she done to warrant Sherlock's friendship? Or, more importantly, what had she done to get herself put on death row by beheading that Sherlock had needed to save her from? Dean had the distinct impression that Sherlock wasn't joking in the least when he had asked the woman this.

Irene's smile never left her face but she grew more amused. Her eyes crinkled a tiny bit with glee and mischief. "Of course. It's so hard not to in my…recreation." Dean really wanted to know what this recreation was but his time for joking was gone. They needed to be serious. He now knew this wasn't a woman to play around with.

"I'm not here to get into your phone. I need to make a phone call." His hand was still extended to be handed the phone. Irene still didn't move. She tilted her head slightly to the side.

"To whom?" Sherlock gave her a serious look. For the first time she looked dimly exasperated. "Oh Cheekbones, you _know_ I can't allow him to find me. I'm supposed to be dead, remember?" Her eyes jumped to John. "You were the only one supposed to know I had survived and now you wish to contact the Iceman?"

"Who?" Castiel asked.

"Mycroft." Sherlock dismissed him.

"Actually, why _are_ you hiding out in America? Don't the Americans want you dead as well?" John interrupted as his curiosity became too much.

"That information has already been destroyed," Sherlock told him, "along with her old phone."

Irene leaned backwards and crossed her legs. Dean's eyes snapped to them appreciatively and then back to her face. "While that _is_ true, I've happened to stumble across other rather _interesting_ information." Irene laughed a bit. Even that was charming. If John didn't dislike her so much he wouldn't mind being in her presence. As it was nothing would make him forgive her anytime soon and he knew that she could tell. That was why she hadn't tried to seduce him this time when she walked in and had only spared sultry glances at the rest of the men. "But to answer your question Dr. Watson, I prefer to hide under my enemies' noses. They never look in obvious places."

"Then why not just stay in Britain?" John questioned.

"I'm much more scared of the Holmes brothers than some silly Americans." Her eyes danced across Sherlock's form and John could see the wariness and respect she held for him. He knew that she would never play him again. The last game had almost killed her. It was smart of her. She became more serious and said in a more final voice, "I'm not letting you use my phone to contact him. He wants me dead, you know."

"I'm well aware." Sherlock intoned unimpressed.

"Why do you need to contact him anyway? It's not like you to run to your big brother over a case."

Sherlock frowned at her taunting. "I need to know how to contact Torchwood." Irene's eyebrows shot up and John's did as well as he discovered she knew what this "Torchwood" was.

"Hey, mind explaining exactly what that is?" Dean asked as he looked at Sherlock. He went ignored, though, as the Woman and Sherlock's eyes locked in a silent battle. Both were weighing the atmosphere and knowledge the other possessed. Sherlock no doubt knew that Irene knew what Torchwood was now. He waited to see what her next move would be. Irene however considered how Sherlock knew of Torchwood –before quickly dismissing it as the brilliant man he is- and weighed that knowledge against the option of her phone. John waited for her to give up the device when she surprised them.

"If it's Torchwood you want to contact, I could do that myself." From some hidden fold in her thin clothing she whisked out the phone. John was startled. Where the hell had she hidden that? She wiggled the phone. "I have my connections too. My friend Jack works there."

Sherlock leaned forward eagerly. "You'll contact him?"

"Of course. I _do_ owe you and I know he won't expose me." She began dialing the number.

"I must admit that I didn't know you were in contact with Torchwood. Heavily guarded secrets and whatnot." Sherlock looked amused. Irene returned the smile as she brought the mobile to her ear.

"Let's just say I know what Jack likes." She winked at Castiel as if to shoot him a hint that completely missed the mark. Dean nudged Castiel meaningfully with a lewd and entertained grin. Castiel returned a confused look.

"Such a lecherous outfit…" He murmured. Dean glanced at him and wondered if he could see her soul. He wondered what such a woman would look like.

"For a lesbian, she has a number of male connections." John murmured so only those nearby could hear. Irene was still watching them intently but frankly he didn't care if she heard him if she did.

"Whoa, she's a lesbian?" Dean asked, shocked. He kept his voice relatively low.

"I wouldn't have guessed." Sam admitted.

"What is a 'lesbian'?" Castiel asked.

"It's easier to manipulate men with her type of hobby, John." Sherlock stated like it was obvious. In retrospect it rather was.

"Hello, Jack." Irene said into the phone. In the quiet that overcame the room John could almost hear the male on the other end. He sounded rather ecstatic to hear from her. "I have a friend here who wants to talk to you." She waited to hear his response and giggled. "No, unfortunately he's rather…taken." She then asked in a playfully scandalized voice, "Aren't you committed to someone already, Jack?" Whatever answer she received made her laugh more. "You're right; I'm not one to talk am I?"

"We need to hurry." Castiel said, attracting her attention. "We don't have time for you to…chat."

Sherlock looked mildly impressed that the quiet man actually spoke up. Irene turned an interested eye to him with a slightly raised brow before she spoke into the phone, "Ah, I'm being rushed. You have time to talk to him?" The confirmation came and she put the phone on speaker. "You're on, Jack."

**[Hey!]** Another American accent came through the phone sounding cheerful. **[What can I do you for?]** Sherlock stood from his seat and approached the phone but one look from Adler made sure he didn't touch it. John got up to listen more as well. Sam stood up to join them but Castiel and Dean stayed sitting but listening attentively.

"I need information from Torchwood." Sherlock said.

**[Wow, that is **_**one **_**sexy baritone you got there!]** Jack exclaimed. John couldn't believe that they had to deal with two flirts all of the sudden. No wonder Irene and Jack knew each other. Sherlock didn't respond and Jack was quiet for a moment before his voice became a bit more serious and less playful. His tone was still rather light-hearted, though. **[How do you know about Torchwood anyway?]**

"I have my sources."

**[I'll believe you on that if you convinced Irene to help you contact me!]** Jack laughed. John wondered if this Jack was a hard person to contact. He sounded rather friendly for someone who was in a top-secret part of the government. Sherlock hadn't even tried to explain what it was which frankly unnerved John. Sherlock usually always explained something as "insignificant" (at least in terms of Sherlockian knowledge) as a government facility. **[Tell me what you want to know and I'll see if I can help you out.]**

"I have two questions. I want to know what it is the serial killer who burns out eyes stole from the National Antiques museum."

"What makes you think he'll know that?" John asked confused as to how the two correlate.

**[Whoa, who's that?]** Jack asked interested in this new voice. **[Sounds like a party over there.]**

"I've got a couple of very pretty men here." Irene agreed cheerfully.

**[Got pictures?]**

"Nothing I can't acquire."

"I don't know if that's a good idea. The law doesn't exactly agree with us." Dean called with narrowed eyes.

"Neither am I but I don't like blackmail." Irene told him.

"That's not what we heard earlier." Sam denied recalling Sherlock's earlier comment.

Irene's sharp eyes jumped up to his. He easily towered over the small group of them. "It's _protection, _rather than blackmail."

"From what we've learned, there isn't much of a difference." Dean said.

"I would love to play with you." Irene purred and Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"I don't think it's time for games." Castiel said with a hint of annoyance in his tone.

**[God, there really **_**are**_ **a lot of guys over there. I'm getting kind of jealous.]** Jack laughed.

"The information." Sherlock dragged the conversation back on topic with a growing frown and shot a glare towards his companions for being interrupted. "It's your division to keep track of such things, am I right?"

**[Oh right, yeah. You're talking about the gun, right? How'd you know it was our division?]**

"I've had an idea."

**[There's not really much to tell you.]** There was a sound of shifting on the end and a hushed conversation happened in the background before Jack returned. **[Sorry about that. Anyway you're right about it being our division but the gun is inoperable. Has been for a while. I would know.]**

"And why would that be?" John could practically see the gears whirling in Sherlock's mind.

**[Because it was mine, of course! I was there when it got wrecked.]**

"Hold on," John interrupted, "that weapon was in an _antiques_ museum. How could you have possibly been there when it was wrecked?"

**[Wow, sounds like he doesn't know what we do.]**

"He doesn't but I'd also like to know what you mean." Sherlock said.

"I'm not the only one who's completely lost, right?" Dean asked. Sam shrugged and Castiel shook his head. John sent him an agreeing look as well. Irene continued to look amused by the conversation and listened to every word.

"Will you please be quiet?" Sherlock demanded. "We won't get anywhere with everyone interrupting!" Dean's jaw clenched and anger flared onto his face. Sam glared a bit at Sherlock hating that he was being told what to do but neither Winchester spoke.

**[Look, this isn't exactly something I talk about with civilians. We're kind of supposed to be secret remember? And as much as I like her, Irene has enough secrets without learning mine.]**

"Oh Jack." Irene said wistfully as if sad she was being denied. John's opinion of this Jack rose a bit.

"This secret of yours isn't threatened. None of the men here will gain anything from exposing your facility." Sherlock assured him. John glanced at the rest of the men in the room. Sam and Dean seemed to deal exclusively in the United States (at least according to the books) and the government had it out for them so he doubted they were going to be spilling Britain's national secrets (whatever may be). Castiel was an angel who didn't have to deal with human politics and John himself already had some interesting stories to tell but he never would expose.

**[Still, I gotta be safe. How about we meet up somewhere instead? I prefer to talk in person.]**

"I don't have time for you to wait to take a flight here." Sherlock stated with a bit of a disgruntled tone. And then a small smirk formed, "Unless you have other methods?"

"Other methods?" Sam asked.

The entertained tone in Jack's voice was enough to tell them Sherlock was right. **[I'll meet you in an hour. I just need coordinates.]** Sherlock relayed to him some numbers that John knew would be their meeting point –offhand he couldn't say where that was exactly though- before Jack gave the confirmation. **[Oh wait, before you go. What was your second question?]**

"It can wait." Sherlock determined and was already moving away from the phone as he thought. "Let's go. We need to go back to Singer's house."

"Wait, already?" Dean asked, scrambling up. Sam glanced once at Irene before he and John followed after Sherlock who had reached the entryway.

"Cheekbones," Irene called and Sherlock paused, "next time, let's have dinner." She smiled. Sherlock ignored her and swept out of the room.

**[See you in a while!]** Jack called through the phone as Dean and Castiel went after the others. Dean paused once to pop his head back around to look at Irene and grin.

"Lady I don't know about dinner but coffee sounds interesting to me."

"We'll see, pretty boy." Irene winked and Dean's grin widened before he followed after the rest of the men.

* * *

The trip back to Bobby's house was a quick one. It wasn't even noon yet and already John had experienced quite a bit. He immediately demanded answers. "How long have you been in contact with her?" He asked Sherlock as Sam went off to find Bobby.

"Does it really matter, John?" Sherlock responded and sat himself down at the desk before he started looking at the books (some of them different from earlier) to see if there was anything interesting there to read. Dean watched them and leaned against the wall. He looked like he had questions of his own that he wanted answered but he was waiting his turn. Castiel continued to stand where he had landed but he was looking more haggard after the trip. John made a mental note to look into his health.

"I believe it does, yeah!"

"Do we have to deal with your lover's spats the whole time you're going to be here?" Dean asked exasperated. John turned his glare to him.

"It's not a 'lover's spat'!" He denied and felt a hint of shame that it even appeared to be so to others.

"Then what would you call it?" He challenged.

"I'm _worried_!" John faced Sherlock again who hadn't even bothered to look up from the book that had grabbed his interest. "The Woman nearly took down the British government the last time we had a run-in with her."

"Whoa, seriously?" Dean gaped. He had a feeling that Irene Adler had quite a bit of juicy blackmail on high figures but he had no idea she'd had _that_ much power. It was impressive. It made him wonder if she was a demon but Cass would've said something if so.

"But she _didn't_." Sherlock stressed and looked annoyed that John had exposed one of his flaws like that. It was an old shame to him that John knew he would never live down no matter how impressive it was that he managed to solve it at the last second. "Neither she nor I have contacted each other in a very long time; not since she moved to America." He finally decided to appease John. "It doesn't take much for me to track her down."

"But why bother? She could use you again."

"Actually for that matter, what's to say we can trust her source?" Dean spoke up with a tilt of his chin in Sherlock's direction. Sam entered back into the room then.

"Bobby's out. Probably a beer run." He informed.

"Good, we'll need some."

"She doesn't have a reason to give me a false lead." Sherlock muttered apparently done with the questioning. John wasn't quite appeased, though.

"Revenge is a possible motive."

"Not every human is so petty as to go for revenge." He scoffed and then scowled at having to point out something so obvious. It quickly reverted back to its normal blank face. "She doesn't have Moriarty on her side any longer." John supposed that that made for a fair point.

"How does finding out about the weapon she stole help us? It's not operational, isn't it?" Castiel asked. He was staring at Sherlock again (or rather through him). His eyes roamed his form. John still wanted to know exactly what Castiel was seeing. Perhaps if he felt more comfortable with them he would ask.

"Because finding out about the weapon will tell us why Celestia stole it." Sam answered when Sherlock didn't respond.

"What's your second question then?" Dean asked Sherlock. The man didn't respond though as he fell into a contemplative silence. John could tell he was no longer reading. It would be pointless to ask him anymore. "Hey! I'm talking to you, Cheekbones!"

"He's not going to answer. He's stuck in his own world." John sighed and turned to the Americans. They had roughly an hour until Jack arrived so they had time to talk. He glanced outside at the shells of the cars with mild interest before he turned his attention to the kitchen.

"God, I need a drink." Dean muttered holding his head. "Do you think it's too early for the rest of that beer?" He motioned vaguely to the kitchen as he noticed John's gaze.

"Maybe, yeah." Sam said.

John felt his lips twitch a bit into a smile and he shrugged. "It's past noon according to my internal clock."

"That's good enough for me!" Dean moved into the kitchen and the rest of the boys followed him deciding that Sherlock would probably want the quiet. Considering it wasn't too cold outside in the sun they sat out there. Neither Castiel nor John had a bottle in their hands (John's tolerance for Sherlock was much higher and he knew alcohol would just make things worse to deal with) so they just let the Winchesters drink.

"If you don't mind me asking, how exactly are you and Sherlock friends?" Sam questioned John as the man sipped from a glass of water he had gotten for himself instead. He actually wished that there was some tea around since he didn't have any with his breakfast but he highly doubted that Bobby kept a supply. John gave Sam a look and the taller man shrugged. "I just mean you guys don't exactly look like likely friends."

"More like boyfriends." Dean said lounging back in his lawn chair.

"Not even."

John decided to ignore the comment on his relationship with Sherlock being more than platonic. There was no point in repeating himself all of the time. He was sure he was being teased now. "We're flatmates. Introduced by a common friend and both of us needed a place to live but didn't have money to get our own so we have a flatshare."

"You actually _live_ with that maniac?" Dean exclaimed impressed.

"I admit it's much but I'm certain it's not as…insane as your lives." John stated deciding to subtly lead the conversation more towards their end. He didn't like having his life questioned very much and he wasn't partial on sharing much more at the time but he was curious to talk to these real-life book protagonists. Apparently it wasn't the smoothest transition because their joking mood became more somber as the boys became a bit sullen and more withdrawn.

"That's for sure." Sam said with a bit of a sigh. He ran his hand into his long hair and then dropped it. Neither man looked like they wanted to talk much about it but John knew when some things needed to be let out. His years as a doctor granted him the ability to read emotions unlike Sherlock. He would need to be careful in his probing. He wouldn't ask too much.

"Has anything become a bit easier? I mean, since the apocalypse is essentially over?" He asked cautiously feeling his way. It was a big question but he just wanted a couple answers. Dean granted him a sharp laugh that didn't sound in the least humoured.

"Not really." His eyes moved to Castiel and John followed the gaze.

"Heaven is in a state of turmoil." The angel said. "And unfortunately I am at the forefront of it along with my brother."

"Which one?" John raised an eyebrow. His voice was impartial and frankly Dean was glad. This man in front of him –he could tell- had seen quite a bit himself. He didn't have to experience the supernatural to see some terrible things. He recognized a military man when he saw one. It made it easier to talk to him knowing that he wasn't expected to be emotional about everything like most people expected. He somehow knew John wouldn't be asking him the typical "How can you stand it"-esque questions. He appreciated it and he knew Sam did as well.

Castiel studied him as he picked up the tone as well. "Uriel." John just nodded once and seemed to become distracted with seemingly more pressing issues.

"Your body doesn't need sustenance correct?"

"No."

"But you do need rest. You should go lay down." Dean noticed the change in John's tone and wondered for a moment how he recognized it. It didn't take him too long as he remembered that Irene had called him a doctor. His medical side must've taken hold. Dean and Sam both glanced at Castiel. Frankly the angel looked rather exhausted. The brothers had seen him in various states of exhaustion from wide awake, to on drugs (a time that Dean _never_ wanted to remember or have happen; a hippy Castiel unnerved him greatly), to completely unconscious from lack of energy so they knew when the angel needed a recharge. Dean wasn't exactly sure on _how_ angels recharged their batteries but he just knew that before long Castiel would be fine and back on his feet.

"I am fine." Castiel said. "I need to be here for the information about Celestia."

"That's fine and all, but we've got a little while." Sam urged a bit. Neither of them would force Castiel to go but they would try to convince him. Castiel's eyes met Dean's and they gazed at each other for a long moment. The angel was still rather unreadable even after all of this time of knowing him but he was rather becoming accustomed to his looks and moods. Everything had become a bit easier –at least in terms of Cass- for him as Castiel gained emotions.

He sighed through his nose after a moment and stood. "Fine. Call me when this 'Jack' arrives."

"You got it." Dean assured and the next moment the angel was gone.

John tsked softly. "If he's so tired he shouldn't fly. It's just a short walk upstairs."

Dean laughed. "He doesn't even use the doors in cars; don't expect him to walk inside!" John chuckled at that too. Over course of the next twenty minutes the men chatted on occasion and then others fell into a bit of a contemplative silence. None of them knew what the others considered during these somewhat brief periods of silence and none of them wished to voice their thoughts. Dean rather treasured times of quiet companionship. He didn't get it often when in the company of someone other than his brother. He loved Sam but it was a constant stress being around him. Meeting new people that he actually got along with decently was a miracle (not that he really believed in such things anymore) and the fact that John allowed for silence to settle without the unnecessary tension beneath it made him like the Briton even more. John wasn't completely relaxed in their presence but neither were the brothers. They were in a mutual partnership at the moment and nothing like friendship could be expected to come from it. They had lived through too much to expect such.

Bobby came back with two new cases of beer and found the men outside. He nodded a greeting and then shooed Dean out of the chair so as to sit down in it. Dean grumbled and moved to sit on top of one of the cars with Sam as his brother gave him that shit-eating grin. He shoved Sam off of the car. "Hey!" Sam yelped and Dean just grinned back at him. His brother –trying to be the "mature" one- grumbled not unlike Dean had a few moments ago and stayed standing but leaning against the car. John looked amused.

"Did'ja have a fight with Curly back there?" Bobby asked John thumbing back at the house. "He looks upset."

"That's his normal face. He didn't take his mummy's word for it about his face 'sticking that way if he left it long enough'." They shared a laugh before they settled back into a chatty mood. A few questions were passed around such as what John did for a living and about the crime scenes before they all decided to swap stories with each other. A few of the stories the Winchesters moved to tell John already knew the main details about but they were much more riveting to hear straight from their perspectives. He felt like his tales with Sherlock weren't quite as exciting but he wouldn't dare trade his life. He admitted going on a case with these boys sounded appealing but he would only want it to be a one-time thing (unless his opinion changed over the course of the case). Sam and Bobby were rather fascinated with the way Sherlock was able to figure out some of the cases and seemed to have changed their opinions a bit of the taller Briton. John felt a bit accomplished.

The hour was nearly up when the lot decided they no longer wanted to drink and it was too cold to stay out much longer so they headed inside. Sherlock had moved from his position and was half hanging upside down off of the couch with his lanky legs dangling in the air. He held in his hands what looked to be a book about demonology. John shuddered a bit at the thought. He didn't even bother to look up as the group entered. "You know for someone who doesn't believe in this stuff you're reading a lot about it." Dean pointed out.

Sherlock didn't answer for a moment before his drawled out, "There is a unique science behind your 'hunting' that I find rather…fascinating despite it being fake." He rolled off of the couch and to his feet. He took a moment to allow the blood flow to return to normal before he snapped the book shut and placed it back into the pile next to the couch.

"Why read it if you think it's fake?" Sam demanded looking faintly annoyed. He didn't like his lifestyle being insulted. The cases they took were certainly _not_ fake. If these British men had been in America in the past couple of years they would've known about all of the trouble going on around the country. The world was almost destroyed not too far back, after all.

Sherlock didn't respond to him and instead glanced at his phone. "Jack should be arriving soon if he keeps his word."

"I just hope this bloke is worth it, honestly." John said. He was wary about the information Jack may hold and what this Torchwood was. He had thought about asking Sherlock in private but assumed that he would learn enough at the meeting.

"I sure hope I'm worth it." A voice called and everyone whipped around to find a man grinning at them while against the wall near the doorway to the house. He was dressed in rather dated wear that John could see with a long blue army coat that he recognized to be from World War II and a light blue button-up with dark slacks. John could see from the rank that this man was a captain. His hair was part to one side but was wind-swept in a rather attractive way (if John had been interested in that way). He wore a wide and friendly grin and his eyes glittered with amusement. He looked like he constantly had a joke to tell and held about him a friendly atmosphere. He was leaning a little against the wall but as he straightened he held himself confidently. He was approachable. "Knock knock, by the way." He knocked on the wall.

"Who the hell let you in here?" Bobby asked apparently affronted that someone would have the gall to just enter his house. Then again Dean wasn't as surprised as he really should have been. He was far too used to people appearing in this house.

"I did." Castiel said as he appeared behind Dean.

"Jeez, Cass!" He grumbled. He could feel the angel's body heat from how close he was standing. He turned his head to look at him and nearly came nose-to-nose with him. He couldn't have been more than a couple inches from his face. He was a little relieved to see that he looked less tired. "Personal space!"

"Sorry." Castiel took a half-step back.

Jack walked towards each of them and held out his hand in turn to have it taken and shaken. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service and god I must say Irene wasn't kidding about you all being a rather handsome group of individuals!" The discomfort in the room rose a little bit at Jack's blatant flirting with every single male in the room at once. It rose even more when Jack winked at Bobby. The older man was so startled by it that he cleared his throat and looked away. Jack's eyes drifted to Sherlock. "Let me guess, you're Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes." Sherlock slid his hands into his pocket as his eyes made quick deductions about the man. "This is my partner John Watson." John nodded.

"Oh, now the couple comment makes sense!" Jack said with an understanding nod. "Great catch." John decided to not even bother to correct the mistake. He hoped it would take the flirting off of him. Jack then turned his attention to the Americans. They introduced themselves. "It's been a while since I've heard American accents. It's great. I've been meaning to come back to this country." He mused for a moment. He moved over to a chair and sat on it in a relaxed but slightly guarded position. "So where did we leave off?" He said as he got down to business.

"The weapon." Sherlock informed.

"Right, right." He rubbed his chin for a moment as he looked around. "I said I preferred to talk in person but I'm not exactly for exposing myself. So I'll just say that the gun _was_ mine and it's definitely broken. Couldn't repair it so I donated it."

"But how was it yours?" John asked. Jack grinned a bit mysteriously.

"That's not really relevant, I think." John wanted to deny it but decided to drop it. There was a truth in those words. Jack had probably inherited it and then donated it.

"Any idea why someone would want to steal it?" Sam asked. Jack shook his head.

"Not at all although I'd like to get it back where I can keep an eye on it."

"Why?" Dean asked.

"This isn't helping." Castiel interrupted. He looked to Sherlock. "How is this helping us find Celestia?" He demanded.

"He's right, of course. Which brings me to my next question," Sherlock approached Jack and gazed at him straight in the eye only leaning down a bit, "Where is the Doctor?"

"Doctor?" Dean asked confused. John's brows furrowed as he looked to his friend having no idea who he was referring to.

Jack looked a little surprised and a small fond smile. Anybody could see he knew who this 'Doctor' was. "You know him? You seem like the kind of guy he'd want to talk to."

"Not personally, no. I've heard of him and his deeds. They're hard to miss."

"Ah yeah, the whole 'aliens over London' thing. I was around to help out with the Slitheen and the Christmas day incident last year." Jack laughed.

"I'm sorry but _what_ the hell are you guys talking about?" John asked thoroughly lost along with everyone else in the room. Sherlock looked positively giddy with the fact that he found someone who knew what he was talking about.

"Aliens, John!" He explained ecstatically. They stared at him as if he had gone insane and John was almost certain he had. He'd heard quite a number of things come out of that brilliant mouth but never had he thought that such a word would escape those lips in any way but mockingly.

"Haha, what?" Dean laughed. "Are you insane?"

"They really don't know what I do." Jack said but he didn't look all that surprised by their reactions. His eyes studied each and every one of them.

"I'm quite rational." Sherlock stated looking a bit affronted but he pushed on.

"What are you talking about, aliens over London?" John asked.

"You wouldn't remember considering you were in Afghanistan."

"Army man!" Jack called looking pleased. "What rank?"

"Captain." John said a little blind-sided.

"Captain John Watson!" He shook his hand again with more vigor.

"Can we please get back to the 'aliens' thing?" Dean demanded.

"Aliens exist." Sherlock stated as if that was a fact everyone should know.

"So you believe in aliens but not the supernatural?" Sam said incredulous.

"Aliens have proof; your supernatural does not."

"Hello! Castiel!" He pointed at the angel as if to say that was all the physical proof he needed.

"Yes?" Castiel asked in confusion.

"Cass, do aliens actually exist?" Dean demanded and turned to him. John did as well as a few others.

"What are 'aliens'? I don't know the term." He admitted.

"Things that live outside of earth. Living things. Tell them it's not possible."

Castiel gave them a perplexed look. "If my father made life on this planet, what makes you believe he did not do so for others?" Sam, Bobby, and Dean gaped. John was even taken by surprise. Jack grinned and nodded at him.

"Holy shit." Bobby breathed. The brothers hadn't managed to recover yet and they looked at him. He took a breath. "Well. I guess we'll have to reevaluate our lives. Again."

Sherlock didn't wait for them and went back to Jack. "But where is the Doctor? I need to speak to him."

"How come?" Jack asked. Sherlock dug into his pocket and brought out Sam's phone (Sam searched himself in shock never realizing when he had been pickpocketed) and brought up the message that he had taken a picture of before showing it to the captain.

"Is this alien language?" He asked. Jack didn't have to study it long.

"Yup. I know what language too."

"You can read it?"

"Not me personally, no. It's an extinct language. There aren't many that can read it." He handed the phone back which Sam stepped forward and snatched it. "However the Doctor is definitely someone who can." Something began clicking together in John's brain but he didn't have time to pursue it as Sherlock continued,

"Then where is he?"

"I'd like to know that too." Jack admitted.

"You don't know?" John asked.

"Nope. I haven't seen him for…" He thought for a moment, "I don't remember. It's been a while."

"So we're at a dead-end again." Dean clarified disgruntled.

"Sorry guys. The Doctor isn't someone you can just call down. He can be anywhere and anytime."

"Anytime?" Bobby muttered in confusion.

Sherlock looked a bit frustrated and began to pace. "I'd really like to help you," Jack said looking a bit repentant, "but truthfully I'm looking for him too. I've been looking for him for a long, long time."

"Great." Sam said and Dean rubbed his face. This was getting them nowhere. He cursed angels abilities to just go anywhere on Earth.

"Actually!" Jack seemed to remember something, "I _may_ be able to help. No promises of course, but the Doctor has a companion that he travels with. I don't know if you can find her –because she's usually travelling with him- but she lives in England."

"Perfect!" Sherlock turned. "Tell me her name!" Jack looked a bit wary about that. Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat, displeased. "Ugh, _sentiment_. You care for her so you won't tell me."

Jack looked a little impressed but if anything he appeared more guarded. He was the most serious John had seen him since he had shown up. "I care about them both, actually. I don't know what you want from them."

"It's an investigation on the murders."

"Torchwood's already on finding that weapon."

"I don't _care_ about the weapon. I care about the deaths. Burglary is hardly interesting enough to pull me onto the case."

"I can see why Irene likes you." Jack stated, amused. "Alright, fine. Her name is Rose Tyler. If you can find her you can ask her about the Doctor."

"Well that's peachy and all but how the hell are we going to get to England cuz I'm sure as hell not going on a plane!" Dean interrupted.

"Why not?" John asked.

"Because he's scared of flying-" Sam started but Dean cut him off

"Hey! I don't go talking about all of your fears!"

"Because I got over mine." He rolled his eyes.

"I'm not taking a plane. I like my feet firmly on the ground, thanks."

"You're afraid of flying?" Castiel looked to Dean a bit surprised. Dean grew a bit red in the cheeks out of embarrassment and grumbled about them dropping the conversation.

"Do you think Mycroft would send us a flight?" John murmured to Sherlock. The man scowled at the thought of asking Mycroft for anything.

"I'd rather not hear his unpleasant voice."

"Hey guys." Jack called and attracted their attention. "I could probably get you Cardiff on two terms."

"What?" Sherlock asked with narrowed and calculating eyes.

"I want you to tell me if you find him and I want you to tell him I want to talk to him." John thought those terms seemed simple enough. He wondered what Jack could possibly want with this "Doctor" fellow.

"Fine. Let's go then." Sherlock said as Jack stood but the captain shook his head.

"I can't. Not yet, anyway. I'll try to come back later on tonight and if not tonight then tomorrow morning at the latest. I need to fully recharge my…device." He didn't bother to go into details and gathered himself. He shook everybody's hands. "It was a pleasure to meet you boys and I'll see all of you soon. Be ready to go." And with that he swept out of the house without another word back.

* * *

**A/N: These chapters just keep getting longer and longer. I didn't expect this.**

**Looks like we're going to be getting into the Doctor Who portion of the story.**

**Review and tell me what you think of the chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: It's difficult for me to decide if I want Destiel or if I want their relationship to be like brothers. Because I like both ideas and it would be easier to write them as brothers. But I like Destiel too…I'll see where the flow takes me. No promises.**

* * *

Dean found the day passing by frustratingly slow as they waited for Jack Harkness to show up at Bobby's door once again. Details about the case were starting to go over his head as puzzle pieces didn't line up in his mind. He didn't understand how Sherlock's mind worked or how he was making these connections. What was Torchwood and what did it have to do with this case? Was the weapon that was stolen (and apparently useful to Jack) important to the case and could they follow a lead on it? According to what Sherlock had been saying he didn't even care about his original case. The weapon, Dean safely assumed, was not of consequence. But that led him back to his original question as he lay in his bed and glanced over at his brother's bed. A couple of years ago Bobby had set up his spare bedroom with two beds for when Sam and Dean visited –which had been becoming more often when the angels and demons started interfering with their "peaceful" lives. They weren't large beds but they were decently sized enough to fit the tall men. He knew that Sam wasn't anymore asleep than he or Castiel were. He felt Castiel's presence sitting on a chair looking out of the window. The two had come up there to try to get some rest in and to also get away from their company downstairs. Neither brother had any major problems with them (even if Sherlock was an annoying dick) but it could become tiresome dealing with other people. It was peaceful by themselves. Castiel had only shown up more recently after leaving to go somewhere.

"Hey." He called into the air knowing that both men heard him. Castiel turned his head towards him and Dean turned his own head to look at him. Dean's body unconsciously tensed up under the angel's scrutiny a little self-conscious at his lack of apparel. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable having the angel look at his semi-nude state (he never slept with a shirt on no matter how cold it was unless he was in his car) but whenever their eyes met there was a tension between them that felt familiar but his mind refused to process. Deciding to put the thought aside to explore later when his brother wasn't in the room he turned his head again to look at Sam. Sam's body shifted so that he lay on his stomach and looked at his brother. Unlike Dean he wore a shirt and underwear to bed. Dean opted for just the briefs. Having successfully attracted their attentions he continued with what he wanted to say, "Are we planning on sticking with those two?" He didn't bother to refer to what two.

"What other choice do we have, Dean?" Sam asked. He knew well of his brother's cautious nature and also knew the man was probably just as confused about their situation as he was. Sam was more of the planner of the group and he considered himself to be a smart man but compared to Sherlock he felt like a child. Connections had clicked into that man's brain before Sam had even received the chance to fully process the information. He had been tossing about all of the information he had received today in his head during the past hour they had been laying there. It was a reprieve and he needed it.

"We could leave." Dean stated but it was a suggestion and they all knew it. He didn't exactly feel the need to separate but he wanted the option always available to them. He would grudgingly admit the detective (consulting detective, whatever) was brilliant and had pushed them closer (he wanted to believe) to finding Celestia than they could have figured out on their own but this trail that they were following seemed so wild. Why were they searching for this "Doctor" figure and how would it help finding him? They didn't need a doctor and even if they did they had learned that John had been an army doctor (and a captain at that, damn).

Castiel stood up and approached Dean's bed before he sat on the edge. After a moment he shifted into a more comfortable position and kicked his feet up to lean against the headboard. Dean could feel the vessel's heat generating on his bare skin. It made goosebumps skitter across the exposed skin close to him. He didn't say anything about the proximity between him and the angel and only a look from Sam showed that he noticed it himself but he didn't say anything. "It doesn't seem like Sherlock is randomly searching. He is onto something." He looked down at Dean. "I want to stay with them and help." Dean sucked his tongue and stared at the ceiling.

Sam sat up on his elbows and watched them. He didn't want to mention how strange he thought it was that Dean was letting Castiel (an angel but still a male) sit so close to him but he knew better than to bring it up. He had noticed for a while the connection between the two and while it made him feel a little bit left out he was far more comfortable not breeching the subject. The one time he had hinted at the thought it was blown off as the fact that Castiel had touched Dean's soul personally and had taken him from Hell but Sam could tell there was something more. However it was not any of his business who Dean had relations with and frankly he didn't want to think of his brother in a sexual or romantic relationship with Castiel. They were both brothers to him and nobody wanted to imagine their siblings doing anything remotely more than platonic. So for now he would stay ignorant. "I'm with Cass on this. It's weird and all but Sherlock seems to know what he's doing."

"'Seems' seems a lot like the key word." Dean said.

"But if they continue to pursue Celestia, they may die." Castiel pointed out. Dean was quiet as he considered the truth and finally he sat up in his bed and groaned a little before rubbing his hair. He didn't want either of the Britons to die if he could help it –he was tired of seeing people die- so there was no way they could abandon them. There was a consensus on the matter to stick by and follow what Sherlock wants to do. Somehow it felt a lot like what John did. Was this how the man felt all of the time not knowing what Sherlock was going on about and following him? If John could do it then sure they could as well.

"Fine we'll stay. But what about all of this alien bullcrap?" He demanded waving his hand to show how ridiculous he thought the idea was.

Sam gave a huff of laughter and shrugged his shoulders. "What is there to say? Cass himself said that aliens exist!"

"Why didn't you ever tell us? That's like one of the biggest human mysteries, man." Dean asked Castiel.

The angel shrugged a bit. "It wasn't of importance."

"Apparently they are now."

"Shouldn't you be able to read the alien languages?" Sam asked as he fully sat up as well.

Castiel looked at him. "I am an angel of Earth; I've never had the need to learn of other creatures. Humans are my Father's blessed creatures."

"Yeah, 'blessed'." Sam scoffed.

"It's not like he made us the prey of every-freaking-monster out there or anything!" Dean agreed. Castiel didn't respond to that and they fell into a short silence. "Do we really have no leads on what Celestia wants?" He asked into the quiet room.

"That's what we're searching for the Doctor for." Castiel responded. Both brothers looked at him and the angel frowned. "You did not know?"

"How did _you_ know?" Dean demanded.

"Sherlock's mind is a…special one but I can follow some of his thoughts." Castiel tried to explain it. "I can see how pieces are being linked together in his mind and from what I can gather from his past I can understand his thoughts." For a moment Dean could only call Castiel star-struck as his eyes glittered with what appeared to be amazement. Dean frowned, "He can read humans better than I can. I watched how quickly his mind deduced who we were by the state of our clothing and skin. His mind is constantly deducing things by the state of matter around him. It is…amazing to watch."

"Is that why you're always staring at him?" Sam asked as his brother began to sulk unconsciously. Dean clearly didn't like Castiel's attention turned towards someone else for so long. He hadn't known that Castiel could read minds but Dean had explained to him how he could read the history of a person. Castiel nodded. "Well at least one of us can understand what's going on with him, but what does this Doctor guy have to do with it?"

"He can read Celestia's message."

"Then I guess that means we need to be ready to go to England." Dean stated. "Jack's getting us there somehow, then."

"Teleportation, I guess." Sam grinned at his brother, "Which means no flying and you not screaming."

"Look man, that damn plane was crashing!" Dean yelled at his brother in his defense. Sam just laughed it off.

"You have never screamed when I have flown you someplace." Castiel said as he looked at Dean. Dean could feel the blush on his cheeks burning and tried to will it away.

"Look both of you just shut up, alright?" He grumbled and grabbed his cover to yank it up to his chin and curl down pointedly ignoring both men in the room.

* * *

Dusk was starting to approach rather rapidly and the air began to turn colder so John retreated inside with Bobby. The older man had been had been telling him stories of his career as both a salvager and a hunter and showing him around the lot. For a short while Sherlock had joined them finding himself rather bored before Bobby showed them his guns. Both John and Sherlock had found themselves rather fascinated before Bobby had mentioned that they should probably learn how to use some new weapons.

"We know how to shoot a gun." Sherlock had said rather blandly not liking that he was looked down upon. Bobby had shaken his head though.

"Angels can't be killed with guns." He stated. John saw Sherlock's roll of his eyes at the 'angels' part and had firmly ignored him.

"What _can_ they be killed with?" John had asked instead.

"Cass is the only one with it right now but it's a type of angel knife."

"Was that what we had seen him use when he was fighting with Celestia?" John considered out loud remembering the white and almost glowing knife he had seen both Celestia and Castiel using that night. "How can we stop her if Castiel is the only one with the weapon to kill her?"

"Well guns still cause damage." Bobby had pointed out and John had to agree. Later as they were still exploring Sherlock grew bored and retreated off to where ever. The pair stopped off back into the house to each grab something to drink before they moved on to go to Bobby's personal shooting range (a custom one that was rather rough but got the job done) where they spent their time practicing. Dean and Sam seemed to have disappeared off to somewhere along with Castiel –if John was right didn't the angel often need to return to Heaven, especially if there was a civil war happening? – and Sherlock had grabbed the nearest book and huffed to sit unhappily and read. John knew the man was bored but it wasn't his job to entertain him. Besides whatever knowledge he was absorbing would probably be useful in the future. John found that he rather enjoyed Bobby's company. They were around the same age and even if the man was rough around the edges John knew he had a good heart.

As the sun began to set there was a knock on the door which attracted their attention. Sherlock glanced up from his book and John went over to allow Jack Harkness inside. He greeted them with a large smile and in the same clothing he had been when he had left. He was brought inside the living room where Sherlock and Bobby both stood.

"You boys all ready to go?" Jack asked as he thrust his hands into his pockets. He looked a bit chilled from being out in the cold too long. His nose and cheeks were flushed. John yawned feeling exhaustion wash over him and remembered that usually around this time he was asleep. It had to be about midnight where he lived.

"No." Sherlock said. "Where are they?" He asked John and Bobby.

"I'll check upstairs." Bobby suggested and left in somewhat of a hurry. He must have still been a bit affected by Jack's earlier flirting making the man feel uncomfortable around the Captain. The other three were left to stand in each other's companies in silence for a short time.

"Who is this 'Doctor'?" John spoke up in order to try to get some answers.

"I don't know." Sherlock admitted much to John's surprise. "A time-traveler."

"Well, more than just that." Jack said. "He's so much more than that." John had the distinct impression Jack had feelings for whoever this Doctor was. "But it's not really my place to tell. He'll tell you if he wants."

"But what's his name?" John asked.

"He just goes by Doctor."

"So you have no idea what his name is."

"I don't think anybody left in the universe knows what the Doctor's name is besides him." Jack said enigmatically.

"Is it a codename or something?" Sherlock pondered aloud. Jack just shrugged. A few moments later the Winchesters descended the stairs followed by Bobby and Castiel just somehow ended up in the room with them. John was growing accustomed to the sound of the angel's wings. Dean and Sam had with them backpacks that they carried on their shoulders and Sam was sliding a pistol into the back of his pants. They all knew that the boys would probably need whatever was in those bags. They didn't know how long they would all be in London. John hoped that the next time he was magically taken to America (which he honestly hoped wasn't anytime soon) that he would be prepared and had brought some clothes with him. As much as he liked his jumpers he didn't particularly care to wear them to bed no matter how comfortable they were.

"Everyone ready, then?" Jack asked after he greeted the men. He put his hands on his hips.

"Yeah." Dean answered. The two men glanced back at Bobby. "We'll see ya."

"We'll be back…whenever, Bobby." Sam agreed. Bobby nodded.

"Be careful." He warned. His tone was unnervingly serious and made John think they were leaving for a war. He frowned but then considered that these boys were used to living a war of their own. He decided not to think of it anymore feeling pity rise up in him. He knew better than to pity such strong characters.

"Alright, I need everyone to get in all close and snuggly." Jack said. Half of the men sent him a look that was easily interpreted and he chuckled. "I'm being serious here. I swear, I need everyone as close as possible so we don't lose one another mid-trip. Don't need anyone falling into the Atlantic, am I right?" There was quite a bit of awkward shuffling as they all (minus Bobby) approached him. None of them were quite sure what Jack meant by "snuggly" until the man held Castiel to his side with his arm wrapped around his back. Castiel looked uncomfortable at the touch. Dean resisted a rather possessive growl (that startled him but he decided to explore later). Sherlock made the next move and wrapped an arm around Jack's waist before doing the same with John bringing him in close. Dean and Sam followed with both brothers looking unwilling to hold each other in such a way (they opted for putting their arms around the shoulders). Sam held John from around his shoulders as well seeing how the grip would be more awkward around the waist for the shorter man. Dean firmly caught a hold on Castiel's other hip practically forcing Jack to move his arm to around the angel's shoulders.

"Well this isn't awkward." He grumbled under his breath. They were all well into each other's personal spaces with their sides touching. That seemed to be as close as they were going to get.

"Okay now I need everyone to get a good grip and don't let go until I give the command." Jack instructed them as all of the playfulness left his voice. John was acutely aware of Sherlock's hand shifting and then gripping tighter onto his hip. John risked slipping his thumb through the man's belt loop. The thoughts of him suddenly falling in the middle of the trip terrified him but he swallowed the thoughts down. He hoped he would be able to keep his stomach contents for the trip. Sam's fingers clenched onto Dean's jacket and Dean reciprocated it. Neither brother wanted to lose each other. Even if they weren't technically flying the panic rose up from the depths of Dean's body. He stubbornly quenched the fear and gripped hard onto Castiel's side.

_If I fall, Cass will catch me._ He thought to himself. The thought comforted him but he didn't release his grip. Faintly he felt a reassuring squeeze on his hip.

"Ready." John stated for the group and Jack nodded.

"Deep breaths everyone and hold it." Everyone inhaled at once and Dean's eyes snapped shut as he felt his body clench around him. He wasn't quite sure what was happening but he lost sensation in every part of his body. Fear overtook him in an instant. Throughout his life never had he lost sensation throughout his body. He didn't know where he was and he wasn't even aware of anybody next to him. Had he lost his grip? What did his fingers feel like? Could he hear anything? Did he lose everyone else? Did he die? His mind instantly negated such a thought knowing far too well what death felt like. So then _where was he?_ He was just about to cry out for help from somebody when Jack's voice reached his ears calling, "Everyone _breathe!_"

Dean's eyes whipped open and he wasn't the only one who stumbled and collapsed against his partner. Sam fell to his knees gasping for breath with a firm grip still on his brother's shoulder and brought the other Winchester down with him. Dean fell against Castiel's side and wheezed against his hip. He didn't dare release the steady man and across from him he saw John and Sherlock go down as well. Castiel and Jack seemed the only ones left standing.

"Are you all alright?" Castiel asked alarmed at everyone. He turned his head to shoot a suspicious glare at Jack.

"It's okay; this is a normal reaction for the first time." Jack promised. Dean could feel his body shaking and a stinging feeling erupted within his appendages. They must've gone numb or something. He couldn't trust himself to speak yet as his arms trembled with the blood flowing quickly back into them. He wondered if he had really gone numb if his grip on his brother and angel were still there. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation.

"Are you alright?" John asked as he recovered his sight and shook his head. His arms were heavy and they stung with the blood suddenly rushing through them. His idea to slide a finger through Sherlock's belt loop suddenly seemed like the best one he'd ever had as he had a feeling he would've let go mid-flight. Sherlock's pallid face was even more ashen and his eyes were dilated. He was staring unseeingly at the ground until John called his name. Their eyes met and he took a deep breath before his grip shifted from John's waist to grab onto the back of his jumper. The grip was strong and almost terrified but he could see that Sherlock wasn't terrified. He was using John to get a somewhat literal grip on his present situation. Beside him Sam was still grabbing onto his shoulder. He checked to see if the man was okay and although his eyes were dilated he seemed to be recovering fast. As soon as feeling returned to his legs he helped both men to their feet. Sam released his brother and leaned heavily against John for a moment. John used his strength to hold him up and the brother sent him a grateful look before he managed on his own. Neither Sherlock nor John released their grip for a few more moments until both men were fully recovered. Slowly they let their hands slide back to their sides. John cleared his throat.

The last one was Dean as he continued to keep his face half-hidden in Castiel's coat. "Dean?" Sam called to him just as John asked, "Are you alright?" in a worried tone. Dean couldn't bring himself to move. Something within him had struck him hard and had him frozen. His body screamed at him that if he released Castiel now he would fall. His mind clearly told him this wasn't the case but he couldn't manage to pry his fingers off.

"He's not reacting well to the teleportation." Jack said with a frown. He looked a little concerned. "It happens sometimes. His body has gone into minor shock over the sudden loss in sensation." He admitted. Sam kneeled next to his brother and placed a hand on his back.

"Will he be alright?" Sherlock asked speaking for the first time in a few moments. Jack nodded.

"He needs to adjust."

Dean took several deep breaths but each movement of his chest made him flinch as if his body wasn't expecting itself to move. _Get up_! He mentally commanded himself. _Move your legs, man!_ He managed to pull his one leg further towards his body and he gasped unwillingly. Sam removed his hand still giving him that worried look. Dean was just grateful he managed to move his leg.

A hand raked softly into his hair then and his eyes darted upwards to see Castiel gazing at him. A warm feeling washed over him and he sensed immediately that the angel was trying to heal him. His muscles unwound quickly enough and the knots in his legs released as the warm feeling slipped through each joint of his body. A sigh escaped him and finally his fingers released themselves from where they had been gripping far too hard to the angel's hip. Had he been human Dean would've been sure bruises would've developed on Cass's hip.

"…Thanks." He mumbled and his brother hefted him to his feet. Dean bit down an angry blush of embarrassment as he berated his own cowardice. Damn his body. He hated that he had been the only one to react that way. He officially hated any form of travel that wasn't on the ground.

"You're welcome." Castiel told him sincerely. He looked happy to have been able to help him from his suddenly frozen body. It was once everyone was situated did they all take a good look at their surroundings. It was the dead of night with only the streetlamps and some passing cars to provide light for them. A thin layer of dirty snow lay across the ground. They were standing at the edge of a large statue that Dean didn't recognize. He hoped that John and Sherlock knew where they were because Dean sure as hell didn't.

"Here you boys are." Jack said as he flipped open a panel on his armband. It looked to have some form of technology on it but Dean didn't recognize it at all. He was starting to believe in this whole alien crap and kind of hated himself for it. He supposed that it was just another thing to add from the list of "not real" to "fucking exists despite all odds". It seems only Bigfoot was left on the former list as the latter became longer and longer. Jack smiled at them one more time. "Hope you have money. I need to get back to work so this is as far as I go."

"Thank you." John said and stepped forward to shake the man's hand. The others did as well as Sherlock glanced curiously at the device on Jack's wrist.

"We can go from here." He agreed and glanced towards the road. John knew that the man was already planning out the route they would be taking and the time it would take to get home. John glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearing one in the morning. Had they really only been in America for one day? It seemed hard to believe. Maybe time just felt longer to him.

"Right. Remember our deal, alright?" Jack asked and slipped a paper into John's hand before he started to back away while talking.

"Yes."

"Great! It was nice meeting you all!" He waved and then turned to walk off. John glanced at the paper in his hand and saw it was the man's number. He made a mental note to give it to this "Doctor" bloke before he noticed that Sherlock and the others had already walked off. He jogged to catch up to them.

"So where to now?" Sam asked as he looked around him. Dean matched him also taking in their surroundings. It was the first time either man had been outside of the country. Dean didn't particularly like it –America was his home field, after all, and familiar despite all of the travelling- but he knew he had to put up with it for the time being.

"We'll head to our flat." Sherlock stated taking control of the situation as he flagged down a cab. "From there we will need to find Rose Tyler."

"Well we ain't going anywhere tonight that's for sure." Dean said. "Unless we're making a sudden house call."

"I doubt the woman would appreciate it." John said blandly not wanting the idea to take root in Sherlock's eccentric brain. When the cab pulled up the five men squeezed in together before John told the cabbie the address. He mentally counted how much the fare would cost. He hoped that Sherlock would be able to pitch in. They fell into a silence as the American brothers gazed out of the windows to take in the sights. There wasn't much to see in the middle of the night but they were still rather fascinated with their sights. It was taking a bit of time for them to realize they were no longer in America. John was beginning to wonder if he should just call into work and take some days off. He couldn't even think about going to do a menial job (that he still cared for but) when there was a supernatural (and possibly alien) case at hand. It almost made his hand start trembling at the thought which made him frown.

So cramped were they in the cab that nobody noticed as Sherlock gently touched the back of John's hand and John blinked before looking at him. His knowing eyes told John that the man knew all. Damn him for being so observant. "You should tell Sarah you won't be joining her for a while." Sherlock told him.

John sighed and took his hand out from underneath Sherlock's to rub his face. The nighttime was actually affecting him a bit. "Yeah." He agreed but he didn't like it. He felt bad always taking leave at random times. If the woman hadn't been so sympathetic John was sure he would've been out of the job a very long time ago. He would call her up in the morning to explain as much as he could. John felt himself doze off for a while before he was shaken awake by moving bodies and he blinked blearily. He had faint memories of having to switch cabs along the way and when he opened his eyes he discovered they had arrived at their flat. The rest of the men had already piled out.

"He already paid." Sam explained motioning to Sherlock when John tried to grab his wallet. John nodded before he climbed out as well. Sherlock had to front door open and the group followed him in and up the stairs. John locked the door behind them. A faint smile ghosted his lips as he saw the familiar sights and smelled the familiar scents of their flat. It was comforting. A part of him could barely believe that not three hours ago he had been in the middle of the United States. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf and hung them up while the Americans glanced around and made themselves at home on the couch and at the worktable.

"I'll put on some tea. Coffee for you?" He asked the Winchesters having noticed they didn't care for tea.

"Yeah, thanks." Sam said with a grateful nod before he went for his backpack and pulled out his laptop. John went into the kitchen. Dean found his eyes constantly moving in this apartment. It was messy in a bachelor pad type way with papers and books scattered over every surface. On the mantle over the fireplace he saw a skull (somehow he wasn't really surprised) and stabbed into the wall looked to be the board game _Cluedo_. He wondered who had done that. From what he could see into the kitchen there was a chemistry lab set up in there with a microscope and many beakers and such which Sherlock had immediately attached himself to. Two armchairs sat in front of the fireplace. There were a few trinkets here and there that just screamed "John's taste" while a majority of the items seemed to be mostly Sherlock's mess. On the wall behind the couch a bright yellow smiley face was spray painted on and Dean noticed bullet holes dotting it.

"Are those bullet holes?" He asked even though he knew the answer. "Did you get attacked in here?"

"We do get attacked but those particular holes (it didn't take John much to know which ones Dean was referring to) were made by Sherlock." John said.

"Why would you shoot your wall?" Castiel asked as he moved through the apartment to examine the stuff around him. He became interested in the skull and touched it lightly.

"Boredom." Sherlock drawled before he moved over to the microwave oven. He opened it to find it empty and turned on John. "What happened to the liver?" He demanded.

"You put it in the cabinet." John stated and effortlessly moved around Sherlock with practiced ease to take the steaming teapot off of the burner. He poured two cups before he went to the other cabinet to find mugs for the Americans. He paused for a moment. "Castiel, do you want anything?" He was unsure if the angel really wanted to drink anything but he had seen the man chug down the tea at Irene's.

Castiel looked at him with a shake of his head. "I'm fine, thank you." John nodded and returned to preparing the drinks.

"Sherlock," Sam called to attract the man's attention, "I'm fine with hacking and such but I'm sure you have better access to British software than I do. Help?" He nodded towards his computer screen and Sherlock joined him in front of it to turn the device towards him. He moved his fingers swiftly across the keyboard typing whatever before he turned it back to Sam to discover police records had been pulled up. Right then his phone rang right as Sam thanked him and got to work.

"_What_, Mycroft?" Sherlock demanded. Dean got up and headed into the kitchen to search for something to eat already making himself at home. John glanced over seeing as Sherlock was on the phone with his elder brother. "I've been in America."

"Holy shit!" Dean yelped and slammed the door the refrigerator shut before he opened it again. Castiel and Sam looked at him and both were startled to see a head in the fridge. "Is that a head?!"

"Stop pointing out the obvious; you sound like an idiot." Sherlock scolded with annoyance lacing his tone before he said to Mycroft, "Alien technology, what else?"

"I wouldn't move it unless you want to have Sherlock make a fit." John stated and couldn't help his own amused grin remembering he had reacted similarly to the head.

"What else do you have in here?" Dean muttered and glanced through the contents of the fridge to discover a couple other body parts and a few small jars of blood labeled strangely in a way he couldn't comprehend. "Don't you guys keep, I don't know, _food_ in here?"

"I _try_ to but Sherlock keeps throwing stuff out to make room for his experiments." John scowled. "Usually Mrs. Hudson –our landlady- keeps our food but it's too late to bother the poor woman now."

"Great." Dean threw the door shut and sighed before sitting down at a small clogged table in the corner of the kitchen to move some books out of the way. He saw a mixture of medical and criminology books and papers.

"There are some biscuits in the cabinet above the stove." John suggested and opened the cabinet to show a couple of shortbread biscuits. Dean grabbed them with a thank you before he plopped down across from his brother to share. Castiel moved to the opposite wall to examine the bullet holes curiously. John joined them a moment later –the rest of them all ignoring Sherlock's talk on the phone- and gave them their drinks before sitting down in his favourite chair to sip. "Got anything?"

"Yeah, actually." Sam said and Sherlock quickly said goodbye before hanging up abruptly on his brother. He joined the brothers in front of the computer. "There are a couple of Rose Tylers."

"How the heck do we know which one she is?" Dean asked and Castiel came up behind him to glance as well.

"Let me see the pictures." Sherlock demanded and Sam began to click through their pictures. For a number of minutes nobody said anything as Sherlock looked over all of them before he called for them to stop. "Doesn't she look familiar, John?" Sherlock's eyes sparkled in that knowing way as John looked over the picture of the woman. She had medium length blonde hair in the picture with dark eyebrows. She certainly did look familiar and tried to remember where.

"Ah! From when we were going to Marie's!" John said and Sherlock beamed at him.

"This is her." He stated.

"How do you know?" Castiel asked. Sherlock moved away from the computer to pace some.

"The Doctor has a machine that looks similar to a 1960's police box. I've seen various pictures of it. Recall, John, how we had seen this woman and a man step out of a police box that had certainly _not_ been there before." He said.

"I admit it's unusual to see one of those around here anymore but to call it an alien machine…" John shook his head not convinced.

"However that man she was with wasn't the Doctor. The Doctor looks completely different from him. Who was he then? A boyfriend, perhaps? A friend of the Doctor's?" Sherlock muttered to himself.

"Do you have an address?" Dean asked his brother.

"Yeah. Says here she lives with her mom." Sam said and turned to computer to John.

"That isn't too far from here. Maybe half an hour at most." The man told them and was rather pleased with the developments. He sat down to finish his tea suddenly restless. He didn't like that it was so late. He wanted to continue such a curious case right away. "Why exactly is Celestia such a problem?" He asked.

"She's rogue." Castiel said. "We do not know what she wants but she was one of my men. It's my job to stop her."

"What's to say she's not up to anything good?"

"Well the dead people for one." Dean stated blandly.

"Well, yes…"

"Because she is not following orders." Castiel said and crossed his arms to shift his weight. "I do not know what she wants but I intend to find out."

"You fought with the woman, though."

"Yeah and that just screams 'Not doing anything bad, boss'!" Dean scoffed.

"Fair enough." John said not wanting to continue with the snappy talk. He stood up. "I'm taking a shower and I'm off to bed." He announced before he hesitated and glanced at Sherlock. He knew the man needed sleep but he clearly wasn't losing steam anytime soon. He turned back to the Americans. "Make yourselves at home but I wouldn't talk to him when he's like that. He gets frustrated by a lot of talking." Sherlock stalked over and dropped himself onto the couch to lie down and think. John hoped the man would pass out there for a while. How many days had he gone without rest so far? Off the top of his head he could count at least three. The man would eventually knock himself out.

"Alright. We'll be here." Sam said with a smile and John nodded before he headed upstairs for the night.

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**A/N: I feel like not much occurred in this chapter but I'm already working on the next one. This one was already getting pretty long without the next scene.**

**Review please! The box is right down there. ;D**


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